tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83338941989832992652024-03-13T10:54:02.866-07:00theelegantapeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1856125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-27811593656251184422015-01-30T06:18:00.000-08:002015-01-30T06:18:22.891-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Check out the new elegantape website @http://theelegantapecom.ipage.com/</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-11809778123859956032014-02-14T10:29:00.001-08:002014-02-14T10:29:22.573-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
complete novel available @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Augment-Part-1-Eric-Gabrielsen-ebook/dp/B00GDJ0YDK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392402513&sr=1-1&keywords=Augment">http://www.amazon.com/Augment-Part-1-Eric-Gabrielsen-ebook/dp/B00GDJ0YDK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392402513&sr=1-1&keywords=Augment</a><br />
<br />
Chapter 13 continued....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Shit Street
in Pusan had not changed in a hundred years—if you wanted a knockoff of the
latest Parisian fashion that would unravel a week later, a full length leather
duster that would smell suspicious and leave dye on your clothes, new decks at
one-tenth the price, the latest in electronics and wet gear—all legal and
illegal and all garbage. It was a perfect port money trap. Rube goes in, credit
goes in, rube goes out, credit stays. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">** <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
wasn’t sure what she was looking for but would know it when she saw it. There
was a cool clinging mist coming off the water; it had a heavy flavor of diesel
with just a touch of rotting fish. Nevada-tan moved slowly from storefront to
storefront, stepping over several passed out sailors and an ROK Marine holding
a bloody rag to his forehead while smoking a bent cigarette. Stopping in front
of an electronics store; most of the stock in the windows was dust- covered and
out of date. Pushing the door open, she was startled by a loud electronic
chime. The store’s interior reflected the window display perfectly. Behind the
counter stood a man with a young, unlined face. His hair was cut in a symmetrical
bowl that highlighted his ebony ear plugs. A Maori tattoo decorated his chin
and lower face. Armless, he was reading a newspaper, turning the pages with a
long rubber-tipped stick he held in his mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good
morning,” Nevada-tan chirped happily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So you say,”
he grunted around the stick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
was a little flustered but continued. “Any day you are alive and free is a good
day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The stick
fell to the counter top with a clack. “Really?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
reddened. “Yes, I think so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
peered at her as if he just noticed her. “Let me ask you a question Princess,
may I call you Princess?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,”
Nevada-tan stammered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well,
Princess let me ask you a question. Do your balls itch?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah,...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“ ‘Ah,’ is
not an answer. Can you talk?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well?” he demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
thrust her chin forward and replied. “I have no balls so they do not itch.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well good
for fucking you. Grab that pointer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
grabbed the pointer with both hands and held it in front of her like a sword.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Now put it
down on the counter with the point facing me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
did as instructed. “Push it about half way over toward me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She did as
she was told. To her horror he straddled it and began to rub his crotch back
and forth growling, his face scrunched up in something resembling ecstasy.
Nevada-tan could feel his weight and movement through the stick. Frozen with
dread and repulsion she could not let go. He hopped off abruptly as he had
hopped on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There! That
is probably the most use you have been to anyone in years. Now do you want to
buy a deck?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
let go of the stick and pushed it away from her with her fingertips.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I need a
chip and flow access.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Chip?” The
man behind the counter looked confused. “Lady, everyone in the Pacific fucking
rim has a chip. It comes with your fucking belly button.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You have a
scanner?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Of course I
have a scanner,” he rolled his eyes. “This look like a charity to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Scan me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
ducked behind the counter and popped back up with a hand scanner in his mouth.
He dropped it on the counter. “Wave your right wrist over it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She did. The
scanner read nothing. “Wave your left then, slowly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She passed
her left over slowly. Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So fucking
what. You moved it. Pick up the scanner and pass it over yourself.” She did,
covering her arms, legs, torso and head—nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hmmm. Wave
it over my right shoulder.” She did and it beeped on the screen came up his
I.D. and credit balance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Holy shit. I
didn’t think it was possible. It’s like walking around without a head. How the
hell did you make it through school or buy a bowl of <i>kim chi</i> for Christ
sake?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I was
different, special.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
behind the counter shook his head. “I guess. What the hell can I do for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can you get
me a chip?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hell, you
got enough credit I can make you King of Thailand. How much you got?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“If I can get
access to the flow I can get as much as you need.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
smirked. “How? Magic? Integral baffles prevent any unauthorized transfers or
even contact with accounts not keyed to your chip.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She shrugged.
“Let me try.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man made
a farting noise with his lips. Then he turned his back and stepped through
a beaded curtain. Nevada-tan stood there, unsure of what to do. He poked his
head back through the curtain and said, “You coming?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She walked
around the end of the counter and went through the curtain. The front of the
store looked like an operating theater compared to the back. Piles of opened
crates with all manner of ephemera: electronics, spoiled foodstuffs, sex toys,
and a moth eaten pair of shrunken heads. He led her to the back wall and a
small desk. On it was what appeared to be an arcade-grade crown with filaments;
she was sure of dubious cleanliness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It ain’t
Sony labs, Princess. It’s what we got.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She sat at
the desk and placed the last prophylactic sleeve in the dispenser over her
head, adjusting the crown to fit. It formed a fit slowly, tightly gripping her
head. She felt the pinprick pressure as the microfilaments bore in. The
connection was fuzzy and indistinct; not anything like the connection at the
compound. She focused and pushed her way to into the flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Letting herself drift until she came upon a
financial beachhead. Getting herself in as a loan query she moved among
accounts, taking small amounts from only the largest and readjusting the
totals, depositing these small withdrawals into an earnest money account for a
large corporate real estate auction. Finally, she keyed that to a blind account
accessible by the counterman’s chip number. Closing all the portals behind her,
she pulled back into the flow erasing, her wake as she withdrew. Disconnecting,
wincing as the filaments withdrew; she was covered in a light dew of sweat from
concentration she expended in the effort to stay in the flow over such a poor
connection. The man was watching her closely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well?” he
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Access your
account at this number,” she said, rattling off a series of digits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hold on for
shit’s sake.” He moved to the counter, picked up the pointer and tapped a
series of commands into the scanner. He leaned in with his shoulder to scan his
chip. As he peered at the small screen, his eyes grew to the size of saucers.
Dashing to the front door he flipped over the sign to <i>Closed</i>, locking
the door with his foot and switching off the lights. Running back to the
counter, picking up the scanner in his teeth and returned to the back room. He
dropped the scanner and looked at her in a state of high agitation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is this
fucking for real?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The credit
is in your account.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can’t be
traced?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I would
break it down into smaller amounts. Spread it around. I’m sure someone of
your…” she paused, “…economic class would draw some attention from the
authorities.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No shit.”
His eyes couldn’t leave the tiny screen. “What exactly do you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“A chip, and
then you never saw me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She sat
watching a small wall screen that had been hidden behind some crates of
plaster-chipped Chinese dragons. It was a Singapore soap opera called <i>Properties</i>
about a beautiful young real estate agent working for a large agency. It seemed
to involve a lot of attractive vaguely Eurasian males who had a lot of trouble
keeping their shirts on. She was enthralled; she had never seen anything like
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“If you can
pull yourself away from that for a minute, our man is here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She turned
and saw a tall thin man in a tank top and shorts. Except for his face, every
centimeter of his skin she could see was covered with tattoos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is Han;
he does chip switches on occasion. He will be able to fix you up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Holding a
small case in his hand, he placed it on the desk and hit some switches she
couldn’t see. It flipped open, exposing a piston-operated medical device and
two small cylinders. He reached down, pulled the covering off the end of one
and screwed it into the handle of the applicator. Reaching into his pants
pocket, he removed a small transparent container. Inside it she could see a
small black cylinder with some tiny white numbers etched on the outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that the
chip?” Nevada-tan asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Han looked at
the counterman. “No questions,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He placed the
cylinder into the dispenser, it hissed as it locked into place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Removing a
spray bottle from his shorts pocket he reached over and pulled up her right
sleeve. He sprayed her wrist before laying the muzzle of the device against her
skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is this going
to hurt?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No
questions,” the man replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is it
clean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No
questions.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where did it
come from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No fucking
questions!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
closed her eyes and heard the injector hiss. She felt a burning in her forearm
which caused her to jerk.She was shocked to see just a tiny red spot and no
bleeding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’ll
bruise. In a day you will never know it happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thanks Han.
I’ll walk you out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
looked at her wrist. She had just joined the human race. No longer something
from a lab, an experiment, she was normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The counter
man reappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where did it
come from?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You don’t
want to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is it
stolen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do you
care?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I care.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
smirked. “I’ll call Han back. He’ll yank it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
covered her wrist protectively. “No. I’ll keep it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I thought
so. Let’s see if it reads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They walked
over to the hand scanner. She picked it up and ran it over her wrist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Put it in
the base by the screen. We’ll take a look at the bio as well”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
put in the base and hit the power stud. The screen sprang to life with a photo
of young dark haired Asian women. Her stats were listed under the photo.
Height, weight, age, nationality and credit balance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not bad. She
looks like you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“ It says I’m
Korean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
looked at her. “Is that a problem?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No. She
doesn’t have much credit.” Nevada-tan tapped into the earnest account and
shifted half of the credit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She heard the
man grunt behind her. “Is that a problem?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No,” he said
sullenly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I didn’t
think so. That amount will be redeposited when I get to my destination. And no
one finds out I was here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s not a
problem with me, sister.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good, thank
you, Mister…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He looked at
her and said nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Right, no
questions.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The sun had
burned off most of the fog. She stood and watched the street surge around her
with a life and vitality that had not been evident three hours earlier. Across
from her was a public screen with a throng of people around it . She crossed
the street and inched her way closer to the screen to see what was happening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">On it was a
picture of a smoking reactor. Underneath ran a tag line: “Kyushu meltdown.
Japan<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>powerless. A nation in the
dark…..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-46255416824822634492014-01-15T05:31:00.002-08:002014-01-15T05:31:47.443-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Full novel available on amazon kindle...<br />
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><strong> </strong></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie lay on his back staring at the cracks in the
ferrocrete ceiling. He shifted, causing the makeshift bunk to creak mournfully
under his two hundred fifty plus kilo frame. The bunk (actually, three bunks
welded together and reinforced in the prison workshop) was set in the middle of
his cell with about a meter of clearance on each side. His feet overshot the
edge of the bunk by about ten centimeters, resting on a copy of <i>The Iliad</i>
that set atop the only other furnishing in the cell—a toilet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His legs ached. The spots where they dug out the 50
cal slugs, filled in with tissue weld, healed tight and throbbed with each beat
of his heart. He had picked up the slugs about six weeks ago in a meadow
outside of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ottawa</st1:place></st1:city>.
He and two others had the bright idea (which Leslie had to admit wasn’t all
that bright) to rob an armored transport which was transporting some data drops
from a credit agency. The drops were small and movable and worth an
astronomical price on the street for the data they held. The information was so
precious that it could not be moved in the flow and was only accessed in-house
via dead-end terminals. Harry, the mastermind behind the heist, had gotten the
time and route as well as the guard complements (“Only two, plus the driver!
Can you fucking believe it?”). So Harry, Leslie and another walking knuckle by
the name of Spanner figured they’d hit it on a lonely stretch of road about
twenty klicks outside <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ottawa</st1:place></st1:city>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was just getting dark as Leslie lay in the back
seat with his knees jammed up under his chin, hugging the AR-19 with a full
clip of 7.62 armor-piercing loads. Spanner was in the front holding a one shot
anti-tank tube. Harry had the car’ access open, dicking with the fuel cell to
make it appear they had broken down. He had two caseless Glocks strapped under
his armpits and close proximity <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>neo-EMP
in his front jacket pocket.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The transport rumbled down the open stretch, riding
low under the composite armor. Harry stood up and waved. Then he tripped the
EMP. Leslie heard the pop and felt Spanner kick the front door open. Leslie
jumped up and out just in time to see the truck roll to a stop. Spanner ran
around to the back and dropped to one knee, triggering the tube. The
armor-piercing lancet reached just over Mach 2 in the ten meters between
Spanner and the transport’s composite hatch. Its depleted uranium lancet tore
it apart as if it was made of paper. Spanner was hopping up and down and
grinning like an idiot when Leslie and Harry made it to the back of the
transport. It was an open bay with integral racks. Leslie could see what was
left of the two guards in the back. He moved forward through the connecting
door to the driver’s cabin and poked the driver who was slumped over the wheel.
His head rolled boneless on a broken neck, blood seeping from his eardrums.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Whatcha got, Leslie?” Harry yelled forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nothing, his ticket is punched.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well let’s grab this shit and <i>di di mau</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Right,” Leslie replied, letting the guard drop back
over the wheel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Once back in the main compartment, all three were
looking at the rack of data drops. There were six of them, built like kettle
balls, round and about the size of a toaster with an integral handle built in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Spanner picked one up remarking, “Shit! They’re fucking
heavy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Enough with the commentary, just grab two and get
them into the car,” Harry grunted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Harry and Spanner duck-walked them out of the armored
car. Leslie scooped up two in his right hand and hopped out into the gathering
darkness. He started toward the car when he heard a whirring noise that made
his neck hackles rise.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Turning to face the sound, he couldn’t believe what
he was seeing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Out of the top of the truck arose a flattened disk
with a rotor on top. It hovered at about five meters and rotated toward the
three men. Two 50 cal muzzles dropped out from the underside. The click as the
rounds were chambered was unmistakable. Leslie threw the data drops and took
off across the field at a gallop. He heard the 50s open up. Looking back over his
shoulder he saw Spanner and Harry come apart like rotten jack-o-lanterns, the
slugs blowing huge gobbets of flesh into the cool night air. Leslie redoubled
his efforts; each stride covered almost three meters at a clip. He heard the
rotors change pitch and move in his direction, the slugs hit him before he even
heard the shots. His legs shot out in front of him, flipping him on his back.
The platform hovered directly above him as two spots clicked on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Freeze!” The command rang out from unseen speakers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A little late for that, Leslie thought bitterly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not just cold, but an <i>I wish I had on a heavier
coat </i>sort of cold. A <i>some fucking lunatic dragged me out of a nice warm
bed at four in the morning, at the end of Goddamn November in the motherfucking
Catskills</i> sort of cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach stomped his feet trying to get some life
back into his toes. The stars stood out in a stark contrast against a matte
black sky. His father was in the cab of a borrowed picker trying to coax the
hydrogen cell to life. The method to bring the cell to life seemed to involve a
lot of swearing, as well as carrying out a running narrative on what an unlucky
man he was, adding at salient points that the added burden of an idiot son was
only further proof of a cruel Universe against hard working men.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach wore a look of complete non-comprehension on
his face. It was essentially his null state. When his father’s attention turned
back to him, he would then become the focus of the aforementioned narrative. In
addition, appearing to be too stupid to know what was happening gave the
narrator the least amount of material to work with. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hey, numb nuts! Yeah you, Shifty. Any chance you
giving me a hand here?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not being a cell tech or mechanic or even the least
bit interested, he doubted it, but shuffled over to peer in the access. Yep,
there was a cell in there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His father looked at him with an expression he
usually saved for questionable dairy products.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You really are useless, aren’t you? What are you
going to do? Who the hell is going to hire you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For the life of him Shadrach couldn’t have cared
less, as long as it got him away from here. In fact, he was willing to go as
far away as he could get, without actually winding up on his way back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach’s father shook his head sadly. He was a
small intense man with close cropped dark hair. He seemed on the verge of
nervous movement even when standing still, notoriously bad in checkout lines;
often leaving the item, he intended to purchase because the line wasn’t moving
quickly enough. All in all a barrel of laughs. Shadrach was an echo of his
father. At fifteen, he was a little taller and broader through the shoulders,
but carried the same dark intensity. He was looking at his feet when he noticed
an opened coupling underneath the picker’s frame. Bending down he snapped the
two connections together.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Now try it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His father sneered as he reached inside the cab and
hit the power tab. The Telltales flickered to life as the cell came online.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well,” his father said, “even a stopped clock is
right twice a day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach stared back with bovine indifference.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Climbing into the picker his father put it in drive
and moved toward the pile of alloy transmission pylons. The power company had
pulled them down to make room for a microwave transmitter they were building.
One of his father’s friends who worked for the power company called him and
said he could have them if he got them out before morning. Shadrach could not
imagine what he could use them for, but if they were for free, his old man was
all for them. Case in point, all the blankets on the beds at home had scorch
marks on them. During a hospital fire the firefighters had been throwing them
out the windows. To his father, they were manna from heaven.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Crawling forward the picker moved in articulated
jerks as the hydraulics sluggishly came to life in the November cold. Moving
the boom over the heap of pylons. His father lowered the claw, the machine
lifted a mass of pylons like a child grasping a pile of pick-up sticks. Lifting
and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>swinging around, the picker placed
the pylons in its rear payload area. As each new level of pylons was reached,
Shadrach pushed a button activating the tethers which locked it down. This
process went on for about fifteen minutes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The old picker wheezed and clunked as his father loaded
the last of the pylons. When the final one was in place Shadrach pushed the
tether activation button. The tether would connect, but not lock, due to the
overload of pylons. His father, in no small state of agitation, made repeated
stabbing motions with his thumb indicating Shadrach should get the tether
locked. Shadrach held the button down hard; the servos whined and released a
thin acrid smell into the cold air. Shadrach heard the clunk as the tether locked.
He turned and smiled at his father. His father shrugged, unimpressed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Walking back Shadrach removed his gloves and put them
in his front pocket. He was looking forward to climbing in to the warmth of the
cab and heading home. Just then, a snap rang out like a gunshot. The tether
broke free and recoiled, rubber band-like, slashing downward. The thin edge
sliced down and caught Shadrach above his left eye cutting down, laying open a
five centimeter gash. Falling back Shadrach<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>landed on his ass stunned, not really knowing what had happened. The
blood flowed freely, shocking in its warmth, hugging his cheek before moving
down to the space between his neck and tee shirt. His father stood above him,
looking less concerned then annoyed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“C’mon, brain surgeon, we are going to have to get that
glued. Jesus, you could foul up a High Mass.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach sighed, pressing one of his gloves to his
face as he rose to follow his father.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Qwik Fix was lit with an intensity that Shadrach
suspected had an antibacterial quality. The small waiting room was devoid of
shadows. The Qwik was a chain of what was known as “boo-boo bodegas.” They were
cheap and quick, and if you had coverage they would perform any procedure short
of reattaching a limb with varying degrees of success. They were staffed
exclusively by a med tech who was invariably a “Stan.” A “Stan” was an
immigrant from Turkistan, Uzbekistan or in his father’s lexicon “a
who-the-fuck-knows-where a Stan”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach’s father gave the tech the once over as he
came out to exam the gash. He was short and corpulent with skin that glowed
with a sheen that appeared to be the result of some sort of applied cosmetic.
Shadrach winced as cool capable hands examined the wound. He cleaned it
quickly, applied an organic sealant, and closed it with a pistol-shaped
instrument of Israeli design.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach could feel his skin tighten and pull towards
his one ear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“There will most likely be some scarring without some
surgical intervention,” the tech said softly. “But it will heal quickly and
cleanly without infection.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach knew the chance of any surgical intervention
was unlikely. His best hope was that the scar would add some character to his
face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The tech policed up his disposable gear quickly and
dropped it into a receptacle. He moved behind the counter to bring up the
billing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nice to see he took time from driving a cab to help
us out,” Shadrach’s father mumbled, breaking out his chip. Shadrach knew his
father was critical of all ethnic groups—except his own—which seemed too made
up of exclusively of white, loud and ignorant malcontents.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The transaction completed, they moved outside into
the cold dawn.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, whatever I could have saved we lost on that
little visit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach moved his hand over the scar feeling it
throb along the adhesive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sorry,” he offered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You sure are,” Shadrach’s father agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The new shoes pinched right along the edge of his big
toe.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They had absurdly large soles, almost two inches
thick. The clerk at the store where he picked them up referred to them as
“Frankensteins.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For Gideon, that pretty much summed up the whole
outfit—from the idiot ball cap to the faux cop uniform shirt, pegged
straight-leg black utility pants, finished off with required white cotton socks
and aforementioned Frankensteins. The only way he could feel any more absurd
was if they required a propeller on top of the cap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon sat in a waiting room in the Archer Daniels
Midland corporate headquarters in downtown Philadelphia. The room had an
aggressive organic feel to it. There was nothing loose, nothing that could be
moved: the chairs, tables, drink dispensers; waste receptacles all seemed to
have sprouted directly from the floor. There were no sharp edges. Everything
was a pale tan; the space had a feel as if it had been designed to withstand
the antics of especially inquisitive chimps. As he looked around, he <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>had to admit that was a bit of inspired
design. There were about thirty other men in the room, all within a ten year
age range, all from the same economic spectrum. Gideon could see new patches of
skin where gang tats had been freshly removed and replaced with derm analogs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Got a smoke?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nah,” Gideon replied, patting down his pockets.
“They don’t allow it in here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, that isn’t all they don’t allow in here,”
added the smokeless smoker. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s your name?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Gideon, yours?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Craig,” he answered, offering his hand. Gideon
grasped it firmly. “You prior military?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep,” Gideon nodded. “You?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The<s> </s>Corps, mustered out about a year ago.”
Craig rubbed his closely shorn scalp; he still carried the build of his hitch.
A little shorter than average, his mass made him seem bigger. He was dressed in
a mirror image of everyone else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“ I did four in the Nav, got out about six months
ago, that puts us atop of the food chain in here,” Gideon smiled. It fit easily
on his face. About two inches taller than Craig, he carried none of the muscle.
His dark brown eyes held an implied smile that seemed at home there. His
well-shaped head was shaved close and he wore a carefully trimmed goatee around
his generous mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Trouble finding work after ya mustered out?” Gideon
inquired.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, not much call for grunt work.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Did ya try Security?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Craig shook his head. “Isn’t much use. Most private
or corporate is all Special Forces.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon shrugged. “Can’t win for losing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Word,” Craig replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The smart wall blinked twice as the next set of
applicants’ names scrolled across. Gideon watched as his name appeared third
from the bottom with the room routing number.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, that’s me,” Gideon said, standing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good luck bro,” Craig commented to Gideon’s back as
he made his way to the interviewing cubicles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
If the waiting room was nondescript, the interview
cubicle was a testament to understatement. It was a small square room with a
chair, desk, and some sort of a chair lamp combination that looked as if it had
grown from a large coerced mushroom. The woman on the other side of the desk
held a small data plaque and managed to look both bored and annoyed at the same
time. Her business suit was just a shade lighter than the room/chair/desk. Her
skin tone suggested that she may have been issued along with the other
furnishings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mr. Gideon, have a seat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How are you feeling today?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Right as rain thanks.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s your show,” Gideon smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She glanced down at the plaque in her hand, her thumb
hitting the scroll tab at irregular intervals.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It says here you are a Veteran.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Four years, Navy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And did you enjoy it?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon thought a moment, then answered, “Don’t really
know if I enjoyed it. But it was something different, that’s for sure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I was stationed on a thirty five year old fast
attack submarine. A dynamic situation at best.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I didn’t think there were any submarines in use any
more,” she said, raising her eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She looked at Gideon. Gideon looked back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Anyway, what did you do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Anything they told me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Again the eyebrows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mainly, hydraulics, pump repair. Things of that
nature.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She nodded. “What makes you think you could do
security work for ADM?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I have no idea. The ad said entry level. And if I am
anything it is entry level.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Of that I am sure,” the interviewer agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Although this is the first gig where I ever had to
buy the gear before I was hired,” Gideon said pulling at his shirt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We like to think it helps weed out the applicants
who aren’t really interested.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I don’t get the job I keep the getup?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No.” She shook her head. “It becomes ADM property.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How do you get away with that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Today’s climate is
very...friendly to the corporate world.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“When hasn’t it been?” Gideon asked<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That,” she responded, “is not a good place to start
a working relationship.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 2<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James Halbert gripped the cool porcelain of the sink
and watched the green stomach bile puddle around the drain. Filling a cup from
the faucet and he rinsed his mouth and spit washing the green stain from his
sight. Standing looking around his small apartment he felt his stomach twist.
He was a thin man, with a halo of gray hair that seemed to float about his
head. Staring at his pinched features in the mirror he tried to remember the
last time he felt good.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Moving back to his small single bed he crawled into
sweat-soaked sheets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Time,” he said to the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“0438,” the room responded cheerfully.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Great,” James muttered. Twenty minutes till he had
to dress for work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James had just turned 50 but looked 15 years older.
He was a power board supervisor for Golden State Edison and it was slowly but
surely killing him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Pulling a can of Java Joe out of his cupboard, he
stood looking at the empty space the can had left. Reaching up, he moved a can
forward, making the row complete again. All five shelves of the cupboard were
full of Java Joes. James lived on Java Joes and soy bars. It was the only thing
that his body would tolerate anymore. Pushing the tab, he set it on the
counter. Watching as the can warmed to the preset temperature. He knew that it
was an oxidization process similar to rusting in the can liner that heated the
coffee. He also knew that he actually didn’t give a shit…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Once in his combination bedroom-sitting area, he
opened his closet and removed a shirt and pants. He didn’t turn on the lights.
The only things in the closet were identical sets of white shirts and khaki
pants. It was all he wore and as with the coffee, he truly didn’t give a shit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dressing quickly, he clipped his I.D. to his shirt
pocket. Then back in the kitchen he grabbed a backpack and filled it with ten
Java Joes and a handful of New Day soy bars. Looking at the label of the last
bar as he placed into the backpack he read the label aloud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Make every day a new day to remember!!!” James said
to the empty kitchen. The bars were the consistency of earwax, which funnily
enough is exactly what they tasted like. James doubted if the three exclamation
points were really necessary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stepping outside of his tiny apartment, he palm-locked
the doorway behind him. The air was heavy with moisture and some sort of
chemical byproducts from the fires in Oakland. A petroleum cracking plant had
been blown up a week earlier by a militant <i>Earth First!</i> faction and was
still smoldering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having been to Oakland
once. The thought of destroying anything because of its environmental impact
was sort of like arresting a politician for acting in his own self-interest; a
pointless exercise at best. James walked up to his eight year old Honda Katana
and spoke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Halbert, James.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Honda beeped in recognition, deactivating
numerous interlocks and antitheft devices.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Opening the door he put the backpack in the space
behind the seat. Being a one-seater, it was a little scarce on space. Climbing
in, the car came online, showing the status of its power plant and other
vitals. A blinking readout indicated that fuel was down to twenty percent. He
would fuel up at work. All state vehicles ran on used vegetable oil collected
at numerous fast food restaurants around the state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hit the warmup switch to heat and liquefy
the solidified grease that had congealed overnight. The small car filled with
the smell of fried food, causing James to power down both windows. The smell
would adhere to his clothes. His whole workspace smelled like a chicken
franchise from all the state employees jammed in the small space. James sighed.
It was because of small absurdities like this he often thought about driving
the Katana right into the Bay, leaving a only small French fry-smelling slick
to mark his passing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dash chronometer;
read 05:02. He just had to turn out of Harbor Way, cross G Street, take a left
on Railroad Avenue, then a right on Rickover to Poplar Avenue—a total of 2.3
miles. It would take him a little under two hours. He read somewhere that rush
hour had once only occurred at peak hours like six to nine in the morning or
four to seven in the afternoon. Now the line of traffic was never ending, like
an exercise in perspective stretching to the horizon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ninety-three minutes later he pulled into the Power Authority’s
parking structure and into his assigned slot. The structure was located about a
kilometer from the actual building and was made from interlocking, meter-thick
slabs of ferrocrete to minimize blast damage from overenthusiastic
environmental zealots or any other yahoo able to jam a hundred kilos of
explosive into their French fry-smelling personnel conveyance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The dew wet his pants cuffs while cutting <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>across the brown burned grass to the Power
Authority’s entrance. There was only one entrance through which three hundred
employees had to squeeze every twelve hour shift change. Each employee had to
pass through an identity kiosk. This would scan, sniff and otherwise match to a
profile for each employee. Any employee who came up wanting would quickly be
sprayed with Stayputt—a semi-liquid goo which instantly hardened into a
molasses-like epoxy, sticking the helpless employee to the spot. James had
witnessed about a half dozen Stayputtings. It was usually caused by a new
deodorant or perfume not listed in the Authority’s identification lexicon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Patiently James queued and waited , moving through
the scanner. Making it through without being glued to the floor; owing, he
supposed, to the fact that he reeked of fried chicken. He made his way to the
elevator and rode down the ten levels to the power board. The Power Authority
was built like an inverted cone buried so only a small amount appeared above
ground; the majority was buried encased in ferrocrete with a polyceramic cell
impervious to all but a multi-megaton strike. The entirety of air, water and
power generated for the facility were site-dedicated. The whole place could be
sealed off and remain independent for weeks, an option that caused James to
wake up in a cold sweat at least once a month. As he approached the portal he
hit the palm scanner; the door granted him access. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The control room was a circular chamber set with displays
on all visible wall surfaces. In the Center were gathered the techs and usage
governors. Seated separately were four facilitators in pneumo-couches facing
the main power loads. The four facilitators were wired directly via spinal
jacks into the grid, constantly monitoring and shifting the billions of
kilowatts flowing through the portion of grid that was their responsibility.
Facilitators were contracted for four years and then given full retirement with
an obscene compensation package. James had yet to meet one who made the entire
four. Most ended up as disabilities taken out while seizing on the couch.
Seizures and emboli were hallmarks of their professions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s up, Boss?” asked Sean, the p.m. power board
operator.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m here, for what’s it worth,” James offered tiredly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, in this place that’s worth its weight in gold.
” Sean chuckled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean was a homesteader out from Napa Valley. He did
six shifts on and eight off. Long and lanky, he seemed to be made of rawhide
and bleached bone. His long blond hair was pulled back and tied with a strip of
worn leather; he was always in good humor, which simultaneously both amazed and
worried James. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well Jimmy, everything is five by five just like you
left it. No fires to be put out. Just the chaos and turmoil that passes for
normality around here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How long have the Bees been on?” James asked
motioning toward the facilitators.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“This group’s fresh. The longest about two hours, all
looking pretty mellow.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They were known as Bees—short for zombies—due to
their marked lack of interaction on and off the wire.<s><o:p></o:p></s></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, thanks, Sean. You off for eight now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean nodded. “Yeah, eight days with the wife and
climbers. You should stop out, we’re putting up our first Riesling this month.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean reached out and grabbed James’ shoulder,
squeezing lightly. “Dude, you got to get out sometime. This place is killing
ya.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Truer than you know,” James said softly. “You take
care, Sean.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You too, hoss; stay frosty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James watched Sean make his way out of the power board
wondering—not for the first time today—what the hell he was doing here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Facing the main screens James said. “Initiate shift
clock.” A numerical countdown from 12 hours started. The power room was now
isolated until the start of the next shift. James’ chest started to burn from
the stomach acid splashing into his esophagus. He tore open a soy bar and
gnawed into it grimly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief, we’re getting spikes. It looks like we’re
going to lose the Alcatraz feed from the wind farm,” barked one of the governors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Shit,” James whispered, switching swiftly to the
relevant screen. He could see the megawatts draining away as the farm dropped
off line. “Balance out the drain with Diablo Canyon’s surplus.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I don’t know Chief, it’s going to be close. Their
grid is barely in the black.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. “I know, just do it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The governor punched in the command. A moan came from
the pneumo-couch closest to James. A young blond woman writhed in pain as the
power feed and drain balanced out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Put the facilitator’s vitals up on screen,” James
said. The usage governor brought up the woman’s vital signs, all were green
except for the neurotransmitter levels which had moved into the red. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“See if you can shift some of her load onto one of
the others.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No can do, Chief, all facilitators working at max
load now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Grimacing, James sighed. “Four dedicated organics are
pushing the envelope with this responsibility level; even with two more we
would still be functioning at eighty percent capacity.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The governor shrugged. “You’re preaching to the
choir, but you know upstairs they are not going to allot any more than just
less than ya need.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This was not news to James. There was very little in
this place that was news to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He sat for the next hour watching the boards. The
feed and drain balanced precariously, staying just barely in a non-critical
state.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gulping down a Java Joe he looked up at the shift
clock; it had just passed the halfway mark. Still 05.59.06 left on his shift.
James massaged the back of his neck.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We’re getting reports of a large warehouse fire in
Oakland.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So, Oakland as a rule is always on fire.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The governor keyed in the appropriate commands
bringing up the readouts at a selected substation. “I’ve got a twenty degree
Celsius ambient rise at critical two at transformer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Shit, how close?” James asked, although he already
knew.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Close, I got it inside twenty meters from the
reported fire site.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Is there a redundant at standby?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Not a chance, Chief.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sighing James
motioned. “Bring up the brownout cascade and start cutting all non-essentials.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A scream rang through the power board as the blond
facilitator seized, flopped off the couch and was torn free from her c1
coupling. The screens went crazy as the power grids controlled by the seizing
facilitator went into automatic shutdown. Twenty square kilometers of some of
the most expensive real estate in the country—two major airports and five major
medical centers—fell from the grid. Icons began flashing on the screen as
everyone from the state’s Chief Executive on down was now attempting to contact
whoever was responsible for the shit storm that had just occurred.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Unseal the power board and get medical in here, and
call Personnel. We need a standby facilitator ASAP.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The burning in his chest spread as he tore open
another soy bar. James wished fervently that he could crawl up his own asshole.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The house sat back about three meters from Main
Street. It was one of the oldest still standing in Yarmouth, Maine. Its
shingles were faded to the requisite silver patina, giving it that authentic
New England flavor. On the front porch was a lobster trap that someone had made
into a table by nailing an old cabinet door on top. The screen door was so
rusted, that when looking out it seemed like dusk even on the sunniest of
summer days. Inside was a small living room piled with books and various pieces
of sound-producing paraphernalia, from triangles and old wax tube phonographs
to the latest ambient sponge emitters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
At the left corner of the living room was a hallway
that ran to the kitchen at the back of the house. Along the hallway were two
rooms. At the second doorway was a small mousy woman on her hands and knees. In
the dim light she appeared much older than her thirty-three years. She was
wearing a severe ankle length black smock with a black kerchief tied over her
colorless hair. Her face, devoid of any makeup, was set in grim determination
as she shoved handfuls of pamphlets beneath the locked door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
José Maganna was on the other side of that door
watching the pamphlets appear one after the other as if by magic. He knew it
was not magic. It was his wife Donna. Donna had gone crackers, one egg roll
short of a combination plate, and one dwarf short of a full Snow White. José
sighed. He could remember ten years ago when they had first married what a
delight she had been: cheerful, open, carefree. But that was before Beverly,
her sister, a former heroin addict, found religion and began the process of
becoming a Catholic nun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Now José Msc, PhD, Dsc(Manc), C. Eng, FIEE, FIEEE,
FIPENZ, FRSNZ, Professor Emeritus at Colby College, had nothing against
religion, organized, disorganized or otherwise, but it had taken over his
formerly happy wife to an unhealthy degree. It had begun gradually, at first.
She was so overjoyed that her formerly useless sister had given up drugs,
prostitution, and rumored armed robbery, and turned her life around. She
started making trips to Portland to help her sister at the diocese and it was
good. But soon the changes began. No more makeup. No more nice sundresses. No
more laughing, and not insignificantly, no more sex.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A thirty year old woman had transformed into a sixty
year old dowager. He had tried to approach her, to talk sensibly about what he
saw as a dramatic change in their lives. She would hear none of it, Jesus had
entered her life. Amen… As bad as that was then, it was about to get a whole
lot worse.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her sister The Nun had somehow ended up pregnant.
Considering she resembled a well-worn Ernest Borgnine, José suspected Divine
intervention. Unfortunately, that was also the story she sold to Donna who, to
José’s horror and disbelief, bought it: hook, line and sinker. So on a sunny
October afternoon, his wife and her sister the immaculately-knocked-up-proto-Nun
were in Portland watching the placement of a statue of the Archangel Gabriel on
the roof of a newly opened church. They had craned it up a hundred meters. The
connecting pin on the hasp failed, sending four hundred kilos of polished
granite screaming towards the
newly-knocked-up-aforementioned-Borgnine-doppelganger. There was nothing left
of her but a pair of size thirteen sensible shoes. This, along with the fact
that the statue was of Gabriel, who appeared to the Virgin Mary to tell her she
was pregnant with Jesus, was not lost on Donna. It sent her first class
straight to wacky town, which brings us to today with the pamphlets being
shoved under José’s door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The timing could not have been worse. José rose from
his chair, picking up the publications and putting them in a wicker basket
which was already half full.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks hon, I’ll get right to these,” José said
loudly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The pamphlets ceased to appear as she went to pray or
eat incense or see visions of the trinity in apple cores or any other way she now
occupied her time. José went back to his desk and booted his home terminal to
Colby’s mainframe. He held a professorship there but had no classes, or any
students for that matter. He did purely research and he was on the verge of
something big.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His specialty was harmonics. It was known that all
matter vibrated or oscillated at a set frequency on the atomic level. His team
had stumbled upon the frequency that triggered energetic reactions in a
specific group of unstable elements. Elements such as weapons-grade uranium.
The effect did not appear to be diminished by distance or shielding. He has
been able to keep the discovery to himself, since he was the only one with
access to all of the information. Acting as a Systems Analyst, he monitored and
compiled all the data. Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers behind
his head and closed his eyes. In repose he resembled more the lobsterman than
college professor. He was short-limbed and thick, with skin roughened from
hours spent on his whaler hugging the coast when not on campus. His hair was
still County Cork red, he carried little else of his father except his
temperament. The rest was all his mother: a McCrae whose tongue was as sharp as
her wit, and to this day could make him sit a little straighter with nothing
more than a glance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leaning forward he rubbed his eyes. He knew what he
had. It had the potential to detonate any fissionable material at considerable
distance. Point zero two micrograms of plutonium had been brought to critical mass
by an old Verizon com sat in a geo-synch orbit a little over a week ago. The
transmitter that was used was almost thirty years old and the signal had been
splashed over almost seventeen square kilometers. The test had been monitored
by Department of Energy. The sample was encased in a lead alloy, impact
resistant fail-safe container, specifically designed to determine its ability
to contain release of any radiation in case of accidental or deliberate
detonation. It was at a ridiculously small scale, for obvious reasons. José had
disabled the triggers while attaching the frequency monitors, which were part
of a separate experiment. Then he then initiated the detonation using a signal
from his laptop uploaded to the com sat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There was a short delay which the primary team
attributed to substandard tamper plugs; that was fine with José. Why now?,
while he wrestled with this, was he dealing with his wife going full-out Piper
Laurie in <i>Carrie</i> mode? He could be within spitting distance of making
nuclear weapons obsolete while at the same time his wife was seeing the Virgin
Mary in ceiling water stains.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nothing is ever fucking easy,” he said to an empty
study.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The graduation ceremony moved with a glacial
slowness. To Shadrach, the pace was identical to the rest of his unremarkable
academic career. He didn’t think he would have even graduated if social
promotion hadn’t come back in vogue. His parents were a no-show; the old man
had remarked this morning that somebody else probably needed his seat. The
ceremony dragged on with a fever-like quality. His classmates were buzzing with
what they were going to do afterward and couldn’t wait for the fall, a road of
promise stretching out before them. The only road for Shadrach was some shit
job to pay for some shit life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Clutching his diploma he hung back as the rest of the
crowd went on to many parties and celebrations. He had not been invited to any
of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Son.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Startled from
his self-absorption and noticed a man standing beside the walkway. He was
dressed in a camo uniform and had the same molded appearance Shadrach had come
to recognize as military.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can I help you?” Shadrach asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No Son, but I think I can help you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Smiling sadly Shadrach shook his head. “I don’t think
there is much you can do for me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was the soldier’s turn to smile. “You got yourself
a good school lined up for the fall?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Going to take some shit job? For shit pay?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, so?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, well my last reenlistment bonus was more
credit that you’ll see in a year.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach shrugged. “I didn’t exactly graduate in the
top of my class.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Neither did I, but I was willing to work hard. Are
you willing to work hard?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sure, I guess.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The soldier turned and grabbed Shadrach by the
shoulders. “It is an exciting time, son. All the services are coming under one
command, a unified defense force. Today’s warrior is the best trained, best
equipped killing machine in history. Today’s grunt is equal to a platoon of
soldiers twenty years ago. Isn’t that something you want to be part of?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ahh...” Shadrach was a little overwhelmed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, here is a flow token, check it out.” The soldier
handed Shadrach a round disk <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that glowed
softly with a green luminance. “It will work in any public link. Don’t miss a
real opportunity.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach watched the token glow in his palm as the
soldier walked away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The public access looked just like everything else
used by the public. His father, a man never short of a <i>bon mot</i>, once
told him that no one ever washed a rented car. Since Shadrach had no web access
at home this was his only option. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The exterior was built like a old style phone booth,
tall and cylindrical, and designed to withstand an artillery strike. It had no
corners or seams in which to gain purchase in the event of any attempt at
forced entry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach swiped the token across the reader. The glow
from the token faded as the access stirred to life. A section rolled back into
itself allowing a meter-wide slit which Shadrach entered. He seated himself in
a well-worn couch as the section rolled back into place sealing him in. It was
pitch black for a moment until the screen came to life. Ventilation fans kicked
in, removing some of the faint piss-sweat smell that permeated the space. The
screen ran him through the start up process, which for anyone of his age group
was second nature. He pulled a permeable prophylactic skull wrap from the
dispenser and placed it on his head, sealing it at his brow line. He pulled the
interface crown down, fitting it over his head where it slowly molded to his
contours. The site was keyed in through the token. Leaning back and forcing
himself into passivity, he pressed the Go switch located under his right index
finger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The crown released micro-thin filaments which passed
through the wrap, into the skin, and slid through the cranial fissures directly
into Shadrach’s brain. The transition was instantaneous. One moment
piss-smelling public access, the next green field, blue sky overhead and sun on
his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Eyes forward recruit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There about two meters in front of him was the most
impressive physical specimen Shadrach could ever remember seeing. Tall and blue
eyed with a gleaming scalp shining through his high and tight. Every major
muscle group was outlined in his spotless military fatigues. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Err…” Shadrach offered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I said eyes front!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach did the best estimation of whatever the fuck
“eyes front” was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s better,” said the impossibly military,
military man.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So you think you got what it takes to be a soldier?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Urp...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, good for you. Every soldier in today’s United
Defense Forces is equivalent to a full platoon of soldiers twenty years ago in
means of firepower and information gathering. They are also the best protected
in history. This is the wet gear body armor with Paladin helm head protection
with battle con information and targeting system.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A black battle harness with helmet appeared out of
thin air, then disappeared, reappearing on Shadrach’s body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Notice how light and flexible it is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach bent and swung his arms. He had to admit it
was awfully comfortable for armor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The Paladin battle helm has wireless neuron pickups
which give the solider real-time tactical info on retinal display.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach jumped as printed data appeared about a
meter in front of his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could see
a compass heading, altitude, temperature, and a grid map indicating his
position. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach blinked hard twice, and the readout
disappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He blinked hard twice again
and brought the display back up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Cool,” Shadrach said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s a firm worm,” said the very military,
military man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The standard close combat
issued weapon is the Mark Two Energy Impeller.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The weapon appeared in Shadrach’s hands, it was heavy
but balanced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a large tube
like opening at the end of the barrel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Bring up your tactical disp<span style="color: black;">lay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Take aim at one of those targets.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach looked as five man-sized cutouts appeared
at, according to his tac display, fifty meters. A second gun site appeared.
Shadrach put the rifle to his shoulder and overlapped the sites. “Discharge the
weapon” flashed in the corner of his vision. Shadrach depressed the trigger, it
produced a slight kick followed by a barely audible oomph. A fist-sized ball of
white fire rocketed out, impacting and incinerating the target simultaneously.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach stared at the target opened-mouthed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>very military,
military man stepped in front of him almost nose to nose. “Do you have what it
takes, recruit?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The simulation blinked out abruptly leaving Shadrach
sitting in the public access with a new feeling.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Opportunity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 3 <o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James rubbed his eyes. They felt like they were
covered in a fine grit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Most of the western grid is looking hairy, we’re
going have to shift some load.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. “We holding any surplus?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean shrugged. “What do you think?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked back up at the screens and noticed
something he hadn’t noticed before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s that indicator?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s new. The blue one up above
Seattle?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean looked up a little flustered. “That’s Vancouver.
Another country altogether. Ain’t got nothing to do with us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ever been there?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What? Yeah sure, couple a times. Nice strip joints.
Now about the grid.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nice up there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah I guess. Plenty of juice. Dug a big geo thermal
off of Vancouver Island. Even the homeless shelters got electric heat. Now
about the grid.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James rubbed
his face. “Pull five percent off anywhere that will tolerate it, see if it
balances.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re the boss, boss.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Just lost two step-down transformers in Long Beach.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You know, I got family up there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sean looked up at James. “Up where, Chief?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“In Vancouver,” James pointed with his chin. “Up
there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah, yeah, Chief, the transformers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Start the cascade; keep it local till the crews get
out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“There is a primary care and two long term hospitals
in that district.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well,” James shrugged. “Hope their gennys are up to
snuff.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My relatives left me some land up there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nice, farmland I believe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, what is it Sean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We got incoming, the Montrose bead reactor just
scrammed. A whole lot of real estate just went black.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Some vineyards maybe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief, come back to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shook himself. “Feed in enough to the heavy
urban areas for stoplights and traffic control. Get law enforcement up to
speed. I’ll get on the horn with the Governor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yippee,” Sean said as the circus came to town.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He was on his fifth Java Joe and it was only two
hours into the shift. His stomach sat like a rock in his gut pulling toward the
floor. James felt steeped in hopelessness. He felt he could die where he was
standing and it would be hours before anyone noticed. The Bees were real
twitchy—there were just two of them—a gaunt teenager and a Malaysian double
amputee whose vitals kept spiking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We are picking up coms out of San Fernando. Their
entire grid is in a flux; they have lost all of their facilitators,” said
Wendell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked down. “Who the hell are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m Wendell.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Where the hell is Sean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Burning Man I think,” responded Wendell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good for him,” grumbled <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Audibles rang out in the enclosed space. “Boss we
just lost the girl,” one of the governors shouted, “and if we don’t pull the
other one out of the flow he’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>going to
go tits up sure as shit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James felt a sharp spike of pain behind his eyes. He
swayed on his feet for a long moment. Taking a deep breath and opened his eyes.
He looked at the blue light that was Vancouver and said, “My family left me
some property in Vancouver; I better see how it’s doing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
With that James pulled off his I.D.,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>dropped it on his desk and moved to an exit,
hit the palm ident and left the power board. Open-mouthed employees watched in
stunned disbelief.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The sun was warm on James’ face as he walked into the
parking area. Along the edge of the lot was a homeless man feeding a cat and
her kittens. He was breaking off pieces of day-old bread, dipping them in a jar
of clam juice and tossing them to the furry multitude. James walked over a
little closer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hi.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless man jumped a little. “Uh, hi.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James took a closer look and determined the man was
probably twenty years younger than he initially appeared. Along both cheeks
were strips of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hospital tape covering
some blackened skin tissue. The sun was not as kind as it used to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nice cats,” James offered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, thanks,” replied the homeless dude.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She just have kittens?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, I guess,” said the homeless dude.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James stood there smiling at him in a way that made
the homeless dude a little nervous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You want to sell one of those kittens?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless guy’s eyes narrowed. “For
what? You’re not going to eat ’em, are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no,” James <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>grinned. “To have as a pet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless guy mulled this over. “How much?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can you drive?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless guy nodded. “Sure, but got no license.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged. “That’s the great state of
California’s problem, not mine. Step over here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless guy stood and walked over to the Katana.
James opened it up and grabbed some stuff out of the glove box. “Change voice
print ident,” he said to the car.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Standing by,” the car responded cheerfully.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s your name?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re kidding right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nope, serious as an audit...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Okay, Ruben, ah, Ruben Smith.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“New voice ident now,” James told the car.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“State name following the tone,” the car said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The sharp tone sounded. James motioned to Ruben.
“Ruben Smith,” the homeless dude said uncertainly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ruben Smith. New voice ident on file and accepted.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James walked over and pointed at the kittens. “I’ll
take the tortoiseshell one.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The homeless dude looked a little stunned. “Sure
thing buddy, rock on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded, picked up the kitten and headed home on
foot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He got to his apartment about ten minutes faster than
if he had driven. Letting himself in, he poured some milk for the kitten and
went to his bedroom closet. He reached for his favorite light jacket and
changed into his best walking shoes. Taking his credit chip he dumped both his
accounts off his terminal, closing them both. From his cupboard he pulled down
three packets of tuna then grabbed an old ammo bag and put a towel in it before
setting the kitten into it. He put this over his shoulder, put the tuna in his
jacket pocket and opened the door. He blanked the I.D. plate allowing anyone
access and walked down the steps, leaving the door open behind him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Moving toward the coast he worked his way toward old
Route One. The coastal highway had been impassable to vehicle traffic for years
and was considered a no-go zone. This would have been a grave concern at one
time. Now it just seemed interesting. It was a twenty kilometer stroll to the outside
of Inverness. Inverness had been gradually taken over by Cambodian oyster
farmers to the extent that all signage was non English. The town border was
gated off and you to enter you had to prove liquidity . <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James smiled broadly as the gate sentry extended a
scanner. The sentry smiled back, exposing gums stained dark from beetle nuts.
James produced a chip and waved it over the scanner. The readout caused the
sentry to smile even broader and pet the cat that rode on his shoulder.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James had named him Charles H. Littlefellow after a
one-eyed hamster he once owned. He was a tiny tortoiseshell tabby who rode
easily on his shoulder and was strangely content to sit at his perch and watch
events unfold. James moved through the turnstile and made his way down the main
drag. The houses were all built on stilts, allowing the fluctuations of the
greenhouse encouraged ocean tides to go where they may. It was a happy town
full of laughing running children which were almost outnumbered by a surprising
number of Jack Russell terriers. Moving closer to the town’s center, James was
assaulted by delicious smells coming from a clump of gaily colored restaurants.
Picking one at random, he climbed up and seated himself at one of the outdoor
tables. Looking around he noticed that nearly all of the tables were full;
mostly brown faces and a sprinkling of obvious tourists. A small black and
white terrier hopped up on the bench opposite him regarding him with strangely
intelligent eyes. Charles H. Littlefellow puffed up against his neck giving a
low growl.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Shoo, shoo!” said a pale fleshy man, waving the
terrier away. He squeezed onto the bench across from James, smiling and wiping
his sweaty face with a wash faded bandana.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Edward Thompson, at your service.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“James at yours.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, yes very well. Here for the food are you?” he
said in a surprisingly high voice. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sure, good enough reason as any. Why all the dogs?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dogs, dogs, yes, yes, place is filthy with them. But
great ratters. Keeps all the rats down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked around nervously. “Are you in charge of
rat control?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no. Biologist. Help with the oysters and
mussels. Place is all mussel and oyster farms. Help keep them healthy. Whole
local economy based on them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A pretty young woman with striking dark eyes walked
up and handed them menus painted on smooth pieces of driftwood. “Thank you,”
James said. She nodded, flashed a brilliant smile and left.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Most of them don’t speak English. A point of pride
with them really, makes it a little hard to work with, but one soldiers on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James scrutinized the menu closely; it clearly was
written in some language other than English.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can you?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, yes of course.” He waved the girl over and said
something quickly in a sing-song dialect that sounded strangely melodious
coming out of his fleshy face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My Cambodian is dreadful but passable.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks. What did you order?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mussels in green curry for you and oysters in
saffron sauce for myself, both top notch, top notch. What be your purpose here
if I may ask?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Just passing through, headed north to see family.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“On foot?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well good luck. Godspeed. Yes, yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The mains arrived, both in huge deep hand carved
wooden bowls piled high. James’ was steeped in a green curry sauce that was
pungent and sweet. His companion attacked his in a manner that would lead James
to believe it may be his last meal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So you’re a farmer? Growing these in pots? With
dirt?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no. No dirt. Mussels on rafts with ropes hanging
down with pegs every few feet; mussels attached like crystals on a string.
Oysters a little more complicated. Three steps. Start on upweller rafts on
wires in clusters then moved to a nursery, finally to Japanese lantern nets.
All to a good effect as you can see.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. He was pulling a few of the mussels
apart, rinsing the meat in his water glass and feeding them to Mr. Littlefellow
who daintily scooped it with his paw and ate it heartily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No dirt, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, yes no dirt at all.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A smile now settled comfortably on James’ face; wearing
it seemed as natural as putting on his shoes; something he would need to start
his day. He had been making good progress up the coast. Fourteen days on the
road had put him in Ferndale just outside Eureka.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then things got a little spooky. The closer he got to
Eureka the more disturbing things began to pop up along the roadside. First
cryptic bible passages on billboards along with crude religious statuary
portraying Jesus or the Virgin Mary, often put together with what appeared to
be animal bones (James hoped). On the outskirts of Ferndale he saw his first
cross tree. On it he saw an ill-used man tied to it by an over-abundance of
barbed wire. As he got closer he could see the man was dead, and from the looks
of it, had been for some time. At the base in a camp chair was a small elderly woman
who had seen better days as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hello, are you alright?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She looked up slowly; her right eye was completely
swollen shut.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, no not alright, not really,” she said softly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can I do anything for you? Do you need something to
eat or drink?” James rummaged around in his backpack. “I got some pizza Slims
Jims.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She shook her head. “No, I think I’m done eating. Or
anything else for that matter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked up at the man. “Did you know him?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“For forty three years. My husband.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What happened?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Didn’t keep the Sabbath holy. They caught him using
his roto tiller on Sunday.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Who caught him?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The Brothers of the Sanctified Wormwood, they pretty
much run Eureka. Showed up about ten years ago, bunch of long hairs, barefoot
and screaming about Jesus. Everybody laughed at them. Nobody laughing now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James put the Slim Jims back in his backpack. Digging
through the outside pockets he found his multi tool. “Come, I’ll help you cut
him down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I wouldn’t. They find him down; one of us will go
up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Do you want to come with me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Where you headed?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“North to Vancouver, family left me property there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Have you found Jesus?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James thought for a minute. “Didn’t know he was
missing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She smiled. “I’d head east to Burnt Ranch then north.
Nothing good for you or anybody in Eureka.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sorry about your husband.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, well sorry describes just about everything
nowadays.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
At that moment the cat poked his head out of James’
jacket pocket and peered sleepily at the woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, hello kitty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James smiled. “That’s Mr. Littlefellow. He’s a good
kitty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m sure he is. You and Mr. Littlefellow keep safe
now. Head east then north. It’ll be the smart thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We will. And thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Stay safe and God Bless, for what it’s worth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James walked away slowly. He turned and looked back a
couple of times. The woman just sat with her head down; she grew smaller with
every glance. The image of that cross remained with James longer than he would
have liked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Burnt Ranch was, as it turned out, an inspired
destination. Lush verdant fields spread to the horizon filled to bursting with
all manner of agricultural foodstuffs. The colors were almost cartoon-like in
vibrancy. As James walked down the middle of the two-lane highway his shoulders
were brushed by overhanging sunflowers with heads as large as trash can lids.
He heard grunting and laughter in the distance, turning the corner he saw a
well kept homestead in a small clearing. It was a neat little geodesic dome
with each panel painted a primary color. There was a grouping of solar panels
near an outbuilding and a scattering of farm equipment. The grunting was coming
from a pretty young woman in overalls trying to hitch a wagon to a small
tractor. Her long sun-streaked hair hung down, falling over one shoulder as she
tried to muscle the cup onto the ball of the tractor’s hitch. The laughter came
from two small children, a girl and boy who were pushing on the wheels trying
to help. James stood and watched, a smile returned to his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hey Sonny Jim, you going to gawk or help?” she said,
noticing James standing there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah, sure,” James said, quickly dropping his pack and
hurrying over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He grabbed the tongue and lifted up hard. The woman
and the two children pushed on the wheels and the ball slipped into the cup
with a metallic thunk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“There,” said James.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Faith,” said the woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“When warranted,” said James<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no my name is Faith. That is Hope.” The little
girl smiled. “And that is Redemption.” The boy stuck out his tongue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked a little blank.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I know, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the
time. The boy also answers to Demp.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hiya, Demp,” James winked. From the boy the
tongue again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s your name?” asked Hope.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My name is James.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, hello James, where you headed?” asked Faith.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“North to Vancouver.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Vancouver Canada?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Walking?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So far.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Brave man—or stupid. Want to earn yourself a meal?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good. We’re harvesting and could use the help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They all got into the wagon with Faith at the wheel and
rode out into one of the fields. To the delight of the children, James pulled
Mr. Littlefellow out and put him on his shoulder. They came to a patch filled
with some of the strangest looking vegetables James had ever seen. They hopped
out of the wagon. The cat jumped down and went exploring with the children in
tow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What are these?” James asked pointing at the red
spheres on long vines littered the landscape as far as the eye could see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Tonkins.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Tonkins?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hybrids; an experimental boutique strand by Burpee,
of tomatoes and pumpkins.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Are they good to eat?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Naw.” She shook her head. “A mixture of tomatoes and
pumpkins. Taste like shit but goats love um and grow like weeds on um. And we
got almost as many goats as Tonkins.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Here.” Faith handed James a pair of clippers. “Cut
them about six inches from the tops.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Okee dokee.” James bent over, snipped through the
tough vine, and picked up the heavy fruit. It had a strange texture, the skin
felt leathery and thick with a squishy base underneath. The wagon filled
quickly. They made several trips to the barn loading and unloading the Tonkins.
They were dense and heavy; it was hard work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Removing his jacket James rolled up his sleeves. Sweat matted his hair
to his forehead. Looking over at Faith he noticed that she seemed as fresh as
when they started. He had to admit the real work felt good. The last couple of
years all his work centered around anxiety. Good honest labor was just the
tonic his body needed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Littlefellow scooted by with the squealing children
not far behind. Faith stood and stretched. “Come on, I’ll give you that meal I
promised.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Inside the dome was surprisingly cool. The interior
was a riot of colors and jumbles of toys and books. Faith shooed the children
toward the bathroom and showed James to the kitchen to wash up. A moaning sound
came drifting out of a room just off the kitchen. James startled, peered in and
saw a young man with long dirty blond hair tangled in bed sheets; he was tied
down with padded restraints and appeared to be having a seizure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s Gerald.” A voice came from over James’
shoulder. “My husband.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Faith went to the bedside and wiped his brow with a
wet cloth. The man stopped struggling and slumped back into the pillow. Faith
smoothed out the bedclothes, kissed him and moved quietly out of the room,
shutting the door behind her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Back in the kitchen she took two glasses from the
drying rack and set them on the chopping block.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Wine?” Faith offered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He built this place you know. Dug the vertical shafts
for the geothermal heat pump himself. Place stays at a constant 68 degrees year
round.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Is he sick?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Faith shook her head a look of disgust passed over
her face. “He’s a geothermic engineer. Or was anyway. He worked on the project
up on Vancouver Island. Got hooked on thrust. The rest is history. We lost our
insurance six months after he came back. Now he pretty much just seizes the day
away. We had him on the wire till we lost coverage. That at least gave him
periods of rest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How did he start?” James asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Faith pulled out an earthenware jug from under the
counter and pulled the rubber stopper. “Currant wine, tart but good. How’d he
start?” She shrugged. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Who the hell
knows, he was always a little impulsive. They were working crazy shifts,
digging the shafts. It sure didn’t take long. About a month. He was home and
fine. A couple weeks later a mess.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She smiled. “Don’t be. No one to blame but him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The children, tow-headed echoes of each other,
swarmed the kitchen. They were brimming with energy and delight. James slipped
slowly at the wine and watched dinner come together around him. The
children set a rough-hewn table with blue enameled plates and hand-hammered
silverware. Faith started a fragrant hickory fire in a grill underneath a metal
vent hood. She took out large skewered goat kabobs and put them on the grill.
The kabobs cried out in a delightful hiss as the flames met the meat, releasing
an aroma that brought James’ appetite to full awareness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They all set down. Along with the kabobs Faith had
made a huge herb salad with a balsamic honey dressing and artery-clogging
chunks of goat cheese. Before she sat down she tore a slab of goat apart,
placing it in a bowl on the floor for Littlefellow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The two children chattered gleefully about their day
and any other thing that entered their tiny delightful minds. Faith smiled and
nodded, encouraging the exchange. James said little, soaking it all in, feeding
a need for family that he did not know he had.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You had enough to eat?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded, barely able to move. “Wonderful all of
it, thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He helped clear and washed the dishes in a deep slate
sink. The sun was dropping behind the low hills, casting the house’s interior
in warm pinks and russets. James was sweeping the kitchen when Hope and Demp
came to say goodnight. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Goodnight,” they sang in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Goodnight and sleep well,” James sang back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They skittered toward the bedrooms followed by Faith,
with Littlefellow scampering behind. James poured himself another glass of wine
and sat on the couch, letting the day drain from him at his leisure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well they’re down, both exhausted. Your cat curled
right up on Hope’s pillow. Needless to say she’s overjoyed.” A loud moan came
from her husband’s bedroom. “I’ll be right back, have another glass of wine. We
trade meat and cheese for it, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>got
gallons.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. She returned a short time later. Her
hair was wet and she had changed out of her work cloths into a pair of cutoffs
and an oversized man’s t-shirt. She sat across from him, folding her legs
underneath in a fashion that James always found disconcerting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So, what do you do, James?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Now? Nothing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How do you afford nothing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged. “I used to work, a lot. Saved some.
Just going to wander for awhile. Live a little bit…for a change.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Faith smiled a sad smile. “Living ain’t a bad idea.
Been surviving so long sort of forgot how to live.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A silence stretched out like a long note. James broke
the quiet with a question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“A drug did that to your husband?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Faith swept a stray lank of wet hair back from her
face. “Yeah, thrust breaks down the myelin sheath; mimics MS that way. As long
as they use they’re functional. When they stop…well you see what happens.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And being on the wire stops it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Stops the shaking and the seizures. He was on it
till the insurance ran out. He could at least sleep then.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What does it cost?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You got to buy the unit outright.” She told James
how much. It was a lot. Almost all of the credit on James’ chip. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “You
ever get lonely James?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, sometimes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah me too, sometimes. Sometimes so much it’s
killing me.” She got up and grabbed some blankets along with a pillow from a
cupboard and handed them to James.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You sleep well, James.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James woke to soft sounds. Opening his eyes he saw
Faith standing over him. She was painted from a palette of shadows and half
light. He knew she was naked from the sound of her breathing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You want some company, James?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James had to admit he did. It had been a long time.
And it was better than he remembered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Waking early he dressed quietly. Faith had gone back
to her room. James gathered his things, checked on the children and saw
Littlefellow still curled up on the pillow. The data port was next to the
screen. Finding the household account number written on a fertilizer receipt he
dumped both his credit chips into Faith’s account. Standing in the cool morning
he moved down the driveway and turned north. He felt good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In retrospect, he had spent a lot more money on a lot
less.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 4<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The barracks were long and narrow on the second deck
of a structure that was old when the Hun was advancing. Shadrach was one of sixty
lined up in front of bunks. They were a representative demographic of lower
income classes. Whoever put forth that populist fantasy that only the best of
the best was drawn to the volunteer military had never in fact set foot in the
volunteer military. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There were sixty of them. Thirty male and thirty
female. The military was indeed a truly integrated equal opportunity employer.
If you couldn’t find gainful employment or had the desire to travel to foreign
lands and meet interesting and exotic peoples and blow them to small
unrecognizable meaty chunks for the furthering of corporate interests, think <i>military</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good morning splittails, and you too ladies.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This was Senior Chief Anderson. He is their drill
instructor. He appeared to not have been born, but molded from some
semi-precious resinous substance. He was just under 180 centimeters tall and
not a gram of fat visible. His jaw in perpetual thrust shined as if just shaved
moments before. Shadrach doubted that he ever shaved. He was pretty sure the
stubble came to attention every morning and fell off in a military fashion. Ice
blue eyes blazed out from under a geometrical high and tight fade. Military
readiness oozed out of every pore.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He went down each aisle and pulled out all of the
folded fatigues and skivvies and scattered them the length and breadth of the
barracks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Terrible, like a bunch of clap-infested orangutans.
Why me Lord, why me? What did I do to you to warrant such a burden?” He raised
his eyes heavenward.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Shark!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sixty of them dropped to their bellies and “sharked.”
Sharking involved lying on your belly, raising both arms and both legs up and
waving them up and down. It was uncomfortable and stressful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Shark! You motherfuckers and ladies! Shark! Welcome
to the United States Defense Force. No more Army, no more Navy, no more Air
force, no more Marines. The ships sail themselves. The planes fly themselves.
You ladies and girls are what are needed now. Grunts. Bullet soaking, IED
eating, standard issue grunt. They ain’t going to pay you shit. And be assured
ladies and gents, you will get the shit. The sooner you come to grips with this
the better off you will be. On your feet!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They all jumped up and came to attention. Across from
Shadrach stood Summorald, a fleshy redhead from Odessa, Texas. For reasons
beyond Shadrach’s understanding he began to snicker.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Senior Chief walked up and stared at him; a look of
utter disbelief on his chiseled features.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Is there something funny, recruit?” Senior Chief
asked in a barely audible whisper.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No Sir, nothing funny at all Sir,” responded
Summorald.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Then please stop laughing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Summorald, through a great effort of will, stopped.
For a moment silence reigned in the barracks. Then Summorald began to struggle.
His pale face started to turn beet red. Sweat began to trickle down from his
fire engine red brush cut.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Senior Chief leaned forward as if the recruit was a
new species of insect that had appeared on his breakfast plate. His nose was a
bare centimeter from Summorald’s. Summorald, at this point, was engaged in a
titanic struggle, his face stretched and pulled to unnatural contours. His
body, as taut as a bow string, vibrated in place. Sweat now poured freely,
soaking his fatigues and running down his pants legs, pooling around the toes
of his Kevlar combat boots.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Anything to say, recruit?” The Senior Chief asked
sinisterly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Summorald held for a second longer, then let go.
Shadrach noted with some respect that he had managed to bite down on the bark
of laughter that rose out of his throat. This unfortunately led to an explosive
blast of air out of his nose, an unnaturally copious amount of gelatinous
mucous blasted forth from Summorald’s nostrils. Shadrach for a fleeting moment
saw in profile, the gob as if frozen in time, golden and glistening, amorphous
and shifting It crossed the minute distance, impacting with an audible
splat. It hung tenaciously to the Senior Chief’s nose before losing purchase
and falling to the deck. The barracks gasped as one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It became unspeakable.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam White sat in his office at The Pit. The office
was shabby as was its proprietor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting
leaning back against the wall looking out a third story window on what was
without question the seedier part of Bayonne (which was like arguing about
virtue in a whore house). Sam was the sole owner of what once had been the
premier cage fighting franchise in the United States. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
That was ten years ago. Now with over fifty different
leagues and organizations he was holding on to a very tiny market share, which
he was now in danger in losing. He still held broadcast deals on the three
major web outlets. He was due to renew next week. He knew he didn’t have the
credit and more importantly, <i>they</i> knew he didn’t have the credit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sighing, he looked at the posters lining the walls.
Back then he was King Shit of Turd Island. In retrospect he supposed he should
have stashed some of that income.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sam, ya got company.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
That was Kelly. Kelly was his last employee. They had
a thing going about two years ago. Now, no credit, no Kelly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Who the hell is it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I think I better send them in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Go ahead, who the fuck cares.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The door opened and to Sam’s amazement, in walked Sir
Walter Reid, Australian billionaire promoter, publicity hound and all around
rake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“G’Day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam just sat there with his mouth hanging open in
amazement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s wrong, mate? A bad bit a vegemite?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah, no,” Sam managed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well good. I have an offer that may interest you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam just nodded. Anything at this point would strike
him as interesting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter pulled up a well-patched chair and sat
across from Sam, lighting up what appeared to be a factory rolled marijuana
cigarillo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Want some?” Sam just dumbly shook his head.
“Cheers.” Sir Walter smiled, taking a long hit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What can we do for you?” Sam asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I want to stage a contest under the Pit banner.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really? You?” Sam asked incuriously. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, no mate. My special project so to speak,” Sir
Walter said while adjusting his silver mane of hair. He was tanned a deep
mahogany, which made his brilliant white teeth stand out in stark contrast. To
Sam he appeared as to have never had a moment of doubt in his life. Sam, on the
other hand, radiated doubt like a leaky breeder reactor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Your project?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Indeed. You know a fighter by the name of Frank
Palmer?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The air went out of Sam’s sails at this point. Frank
was a muscle-bound human growth hormone addict who, though monstrous in
appearance, couldn’t fight off a cold, much less a trained fighter. Steroids
and other substances were pretty well the norm in the fight game now but it did
not make the fighter. It would make you bigger or stronger or recover faster.
But it wouldn’t make you quicker or smarter or able to take a punch. Frank had
been put to sleep so many times that he was likely to die from bed sores.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Frank, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter smiled. “You haven’t seen Mr. Palmer
lately?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No,” Sam admitted tiredly. “I haven’t.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter stood and opened the door. “Mr. Palmer, if
you would, please?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam was not prepared for what walked in. Palmer had
been big before. In truth, huge was a better word. But now, he stood in the
middle of the office, dressed in a pair of slacks and a black t -shirt. Kilos
of muscle were layered on his chest and upper body. His head and jaw bulged in
almost comic proportions hiding his eyes under a shelf of bone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What the fuck is this?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That, Mr. White, is the future of combat sports and
you are lucky enough to be on the ground floor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam snickered. “Sir Walter, no matter how you dress
up a pig, it still is just a pig. No offense, Frank.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Frank grunted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Things are not exactly all sunshine and daisies eh,
mate?” Sir Walter’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Not exactly no worries? Eh?
To tell the truth Son, if it weren’t for the access to those three outlets of
yours, we would not be darkening your rather threadbare doorstep. But,
opportunity doesn’t always come in through the front door, eh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam couldn’t, for the life of him, see where this was
going. “So what’s your sell, Sir Walter?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A smile broke across Sir Walter’s features like a
blazing sun on an azure morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“ Burt Iron.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam White was stunned. Iron held five separate heavyweight
belts and was as close to a human wrecking machine as ever strode God’s green
earth. “You’re fucking kidding right? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Iron won’t even return my calls. And he would
eat our friend here for breakfast. No offense, Frank.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Again the grunt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My friend, my dear, dear friend,” Sir Walter said,
spreading his arms wide. “It is a brand new day. Mr. Palmer is not the man he
was a year ago. Nay, he is not the man he was a mere month ago. Daresay he is
not the man he was a week ago. It is a brave new world. Indeed a brave new
time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
White shrugged. “I don’t care how much ya juiced him
out, Iron will take him apart.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter crossed the room. Pulling a collapsible
pointer from his blazer pocket he pulled it to its full length and tapped the
bulging right bicep of Frank Palmer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Attend please. Advances in immune suppression as
well as neurotransmitter analogs have made available improvements to our Mr.
Palmer here undreamt of as recently as a year ago. Grafted in here are
groupings of synthetic fast-twitch fibers which almost triple his reaction
times. HRT in the new parlance. His new HRT is HRTx3; which stands for human
reaction times three.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He moved the pointer to the knobby growths on his
knuckles as well as the bulging jaw and forehead. “Here we have an example of
an aggressive application of Wolff’s Law. The bone density at these points
rivals stone.” He collapsed the pointer and moved in, leaning with both hands
on White’s desk. “That, together with an augmented dura to cushion the brain to
help avoid knockouts, and adrenaline analogs in permeable ceramic disks planted
along his spine. All these make our Mr. Palmer a fighter not seen in today’s
arenas.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
White had to admit he was impressed. “Yeah, but <i>Iron</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Smirking Sir Walter walked over to the door jamb running
his thumb over the faded oak veneer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mr. Palmer, if you would?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer moved over in two long nimble strides to stand
in front of the door . Pulling back a tomato juice can-sized fist he swung his
shoulders, powering the blow from his feet, sending it whistling toward the
door. It exploded in a shower of splinters producing a basketball-sized gouge
where the fist impacted. A lipless smile stretched across Palmer’s features as
he warmed to the task. He struck the door two more times, smashing it completely
away from the steel reinforced frame. The room fell quiet as the dust settled.
The only sound was the squeak of White’s chair as he stood up. He walked over
and examined the man-sized hole in what had been a alloy reinforced door
seconds earlier.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I only hold the licenses till next week. I don’t
have the credit to renew them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter smiled “I’ll have the credits transferred
before the end of business today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We’ll have to promote hard. All the outlets legit
and pirate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Not a problem.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You got a confirmation from Iron?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He’s under contract for one fight only. A ridiculous
purse to go against a fighter to be named later. He thinks it’s to promote a
new venture I’m unveiling.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
White rubbed his head in wonderment. Kelly was
pensively peeking through the ruined doorway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can I look at the hand?” White asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer stretched it out. Sam turned it over
inspecting it for damage. It was pristine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You got a title for this little shindig?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter made quotation marks with his thumbs and
index fingers. “Demolition.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Perfect.” Shaking his head, Sam moved toward the
phone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey sat in his study studying the light
passing through a glass of Jameson’s. It cast an amber glow across a letter on
his desktop. The letter was from a parishioner requesting that her sister be
buried as a nun. The sister in question was well known to Father Woolsey. She
was a novice, and not a very good one at that. There were reports of substance
abuse and fighting at the convent. In fact, she was on her way out for
pregnancy when, according to eyewitness accounts, she threw herself under a
falling piece of statuary, killing herself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sighing, Father Woolsey finished his drink, rinsed
out his glass and placed it in the drying rack. He was due to meet with Mrs.
Maganna momentarily. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Opening a closet he checked his hair in a mirror, and
smoothed an errant strand. Still dark and full at fifty. He had gotten the
calling late, only entering the priesthood after his wife died at forty. He had
taught college physics for twenty years and enjoyed it. His brother was a top
researcher at Los Alamos and was well aware (and impressed with) the work of
Mrs. Maganna’s husband who was involved with some groundbreaking work with
harmonics.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
To Father Woolsey, his work seemed to involve mostly
putting out small fires such as this and very little spreading The Word. He had
to admit the Church was in decline. The last survey had the number of the
faithful down over twenty percent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i>Well, no one said it was going to be easy</i>, he
thought grimly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
There was a soft rap at his door. He opened it,
stepping aside, to let the diminutive woman enter. She seemed smaller than she
actually was, almost folded into herself. Father Woolsey steered her to a chair
across from his desk. Moving to his seat he smiled one of his best “<i>I’m just
here to</i> <i>help”</i> smiles. He recognized the look in her eyes. Reason
would not win the day today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mrs. Maganna, how nice to see you, how are you
feeling?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She twisted a handkerchief in her hands and stared at
a space just above the Father’s head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m here about my sister, the Sister.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, well…that may be a problem.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
At this she leaned forward, staring intently into the
Father’s face. “What could be the problem?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, she wasn’t really a Sister, was she? Just a
novice really, and with all due respect Mrs. Maganna, not a very good one.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She was touched by God.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Flustered Father Woolsey rubbed his face with his
hands. “That may be, but she wasn’t really a nun, was she?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I would like her to become a nun.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well dear, there is nothing I can do, nothing anyone
can do really.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She came to her feet and brought up a large purse
onto his desk. She opened the clasp and pulled out a data tab.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“This is <i>very important</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey reached over and took the tab. Putting
it in his reader, he opened and scanned the face page. The office was quiet for
long moments as Father Woolsey continued to read the document, his eyes getting
wider by the second. He finished, crossed over and poured himself a large
scotch which he downed in one swallow. His normally ruddy features were pale
and his hands shook noticeably as he seated himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Do you know what you have here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She nodded her head vigorously. “I know it’s
important.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Does your husband know it’s here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That you have it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s not really important.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey shook his head. “It <i>is</i> very
important. What would you have me do with this?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Give it to the Church. Something this important
should be in God’s hands.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That may be true, but it is not yours to give. I’m
afraid we will have to speak to your husband.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Don’t worry. He will agree. This is God’s will and
it will be carried out.” Standing she shook her fist. “As with my Sister, this
is God’s desire manifest and it will happen!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Amazed, Woolsey could just stare. He was wishing for
the moment just a few short minutes ago when there were only small fires.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sitting for a time he stared at the tab on his desk.
He had been out of the loop for a couple years. And even at his best he was an
academic, teaching the principles, helping build the foundation for students to
start their journey into the wonders of the hard sciences. Still he knew enough
even at a cursory glance that what he had on his desk was of earth-shattering
importance. Quickly transferring it to a storage node he then locked it in his
desk and placed a call to his brother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Call Tom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A hiss filled the study as the search took place. A
few muted clicks followed and then his brother’s familiar baritone filled the
study.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Tom Woolsey, it’s your dime on my time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Tommy it’s Wayne, how you doing bud?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A laugh escaped from the speakers. “Wayne! Good to
hear from you. How’s the soul saving business?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“They’re dying to get in”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m sure. What gives me the honor for this rare
contact?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well…” Woolsey hesitated. “Something just came
across my desk that you might be very interested in.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Stand by, I’ll squirt it to your node.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He keyed in his brother’s database, accessed the node
and transferred the information. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Got it, it’s coming up on my screen… Holy Shit!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My thoughts exactly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Is this legit? Where did you get it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“His wife dropped it on my desk two minutes ago.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“His wife? Does he know it’s gone?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m not sure. Is it what I think it is?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, it’s just a summary. I’ve heard of some
research in this area. I’ve even heard Maganna doing some work at Colby, but
preliminary at best. According to what I see here he has had a reproducible
result.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What would be the real world applications?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“If it’s legit?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whoever controlled this technology would make any nuclear arsenal
obsolete. It would shift the global power structure. It is almost beyond my
comprehension.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey leaned back in his chair and
closed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>his eyes. “What should be my next
move?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, I would do two things immediately. One,
contact Maganna directly. Is the wife crackers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That is a description that could be applied safely.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Two, get a hold of someone in your legal and see
what rights you have on something like this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, that’s just about what I figured. Thanks a lot
Tom. I appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No problem bro. Any other world changing bequests
from crazy women you get your paws on don’t be afraid to call.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey smiled. “No problem, Tom. Thanks
again—and call Ma.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You bet, fight the good fight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Woolsey broke the connection. He sat in his
chair and stared out his window watching dark clouds gathering above the
horizon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“<i>That is an apt metaphor if I ever saw one,”</i>
he thought. He had been craving relevance for years. It was the reason he
entered the priesthood after his wife died. It turned out, as with most
anything else, it was just a play. Just going through the motions of a half-remembered
dance. Now it seems things were on the verge of becoming <i>very</i> relevant.
Relevancy of historical proportions. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In the seminary his roommate, a very slight and
effeminate young man from Groton, Connecticut, used to do needlepoint as a
hobby. Beautiful detailed work such as a poster-sized replica of the Sistine
Chapel. His roommate would listen as he wailed on about how he needed to be
relevant. The day they left for their assigned parishes, he handed him a small
package wrapped in brown paper. Inside was a small needlepoint in a simple
wooden frame. It said: <i>Be careful what you wish for. You just may get it</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon hopped up and down attempting to get the
feeling back into his feet. The ferrocrete leached the warmth right out of them,
turning his toes into numb blocks ten minutes into his shift. He was at the non
second gen seed storage facility outside Allentown, Pennsylvania. He was in
full paramilitary mufti, tech vest, bead com link, battle helm and full auto
barely obsolete assault rifle, complete with two fifty round clips of
armor-piercing-Teflon-tipped-sub-sonic marauder ammo. Gideon thought it was a
bit of overkill for a bunch of seeds. ADM didn’t think so.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fuck, it’s cold.” That was Dick Fentes, Gideon’s
co-worker and the only blond haired blue eyed Mexican Gideon had ever met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, it’s always cold.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s not the cold, it’s the humidity.” Snickers
followed. Dick was one of the funniest guys Dick had ever met. He was always
cracking himself up. Gideon and Dick walked the perimeter around twenty
fortified hundred-ton storage bunkers of ADM’s finest seed technology. The
seeds were of super yield hybrids of basics foodstuffs such as wheat and rice.
They were very expensive, very effective and only one generation. So you had to
have new seeds every season. This made a lot of hungry poor people very angry.
Which Gideon supposed explained the bunkers and the paramilitary trappings. It
wasn’t a bad gig. The pay was good as were the benefits and the chances of
getting attacked outside Allentown was remote at best. The downside was it was
a long twelve hours, duller than dishwater. But it made for interesting
conversations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“For a billion?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep clear, tax free.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Fentes pondered this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Broadband, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep,” Gideon <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nodded. “All media. Prime viewing time.
Saturday night.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Intense concentration contorted Fentes’s light
features. He stopped at a bunker to pass an I.D. chip embedded in his wrist
under a scanner to log their scheduled round.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Just let me make sure that I got the particulars. I
get banged up the ass on live video Broadband on all outlets for a billion
credits? Tax free? I heard tax free. For how long?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon thought for a moment. “To a satisfying
conclusion, of course.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No mask or hood? Face obscured digitally?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon looked at him with disdain. “No, in fact your
name would be at the bottom of the shot in large letters. In Britannic bold
font no less.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Britannic bold font huh? I dunno, a lot of people
calling me queer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon shrugged “A lot of poor people.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They walked in silence for a time. They turned the
corner and started down the east side of the compound. Gideon stopped at the
scanner to log in his chip.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“A billion credits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon looked up. “O.K. I’ll bite. A billion
credits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“To beat your grandmother to death with a stick.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Live? Broadband? Can’t spend it if you’re incarcerated
awaiting permanent<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>chemical rehabilitation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No.” Fentes shook his head. “In the privacy of your
own home. Following a light meal. You can even wait till the old girl is dozing.
So she doesn’t see it coming.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Now it was Gideon’s turn to quietly ponder. The two
men continued to walk down the east side. The bright overhead high intensity
lamps cast elongated shadows that pantomimed their steady progress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You left out a very integral detail. One the
decision would hinge on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really? I don’t see where?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Think about it. What is the pivotal question?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Fentes’s brow furled in concentration. “Got me, bro.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon stopped and stomped his feet to get some
feeling back in his numb toes, then turned to face Fentes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How big is the stick?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Yvon Robert arena was a steel and glass
monstrosity that crouched in downtown Quebec City like a fragment from a
delirium dream. It was named for a popular wrestler who showcased in the area
from the 1930s through the 1950s. The arena had also been the headquarters of a
short-lived uprising that attempted to break away from Canada and form an
Independent Quebec. It was put down brutally by the Canadian military. A fact
not forgotten by the local populace.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam White had flown in that morning in a tilt from
Portland, Maine. As he made his way to the arena he pulled his handkerchief
from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat that had collected under his limp
collar. He moved dazedly through the empty parking lot to the main entrance. It
had been only six weeks since Sir Walter had walked into his office. It had
been an interesting six weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sir, lean in and keep yours eyes open.” The guard
said politely<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam leaned in and placed his chin on the padded lip
of the retinal scanner. The disposable covering crackled as the scanner matched
the pattern of the blood vessels in the back of his eye to the pattern on file.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re free to enter, Sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam moved in to the arena, working his way through
the maze of hallways to his temporary office. Outside his door was the events
poster. Demolition was sprawled across it in huge blood-red letters. It was the
most hyped event since Houdini made an Asian elephant disappear in front of
five thousand gaping theater-goers at the New York Hippodrome almost a century
and a half ago. The arena held over twenty thousand. Sir Walter had posted the
tickets for free on a first-come, first-served basis. Ten thousand in the
States, ten thousand in Canada. There had been riots at the ticket kiosks. Sir
Walter was also was providing free buses from the States to the arena. This
almost guaranteed all manner of hammered assholes by the time the gates opened.
If the bout didn’t live up to the hype, Sam was sure they would pull this place
apart with their bare hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Cobber.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam looked up. Sir Walter stood grinning down at him
looking for all the world like an ad for rejuvenation therapy. His Caribbean
blue eyes sparkled under his fashionable tousled mane. He was dressed in a
suburban version of safari gear. Sam had to suppress a strong impulse to
strangle him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sir Walter, I hope you know what you are doing.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam unlocked his office door, stepped inside and
flicked on the lights. It was a small space containing just a chipped steel
desk and two chairs. Sam stepped around and collapsed in the chair behind the
desk. Sir Walter literally hopped, landing lightly in the remaining chair,
grinning all the while.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why the long face mate? All a go. The fight of the
century and all that; sit back and enjoy the show.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam pulled a damp handkerchief across his face to
wipe away the sweat. “I dunno. No gate receipts. All the merchandizing given
over to the arena. You got credit to burn? If this falls through I’m done.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter turned up his famous smile another
megawatt. “Son, you were done six weeks ago. This is a lifeline. If I were you
I would grab it and not worry about what it’s attached to.” He stood and waved
Sam out from behind the desk. “Let’s have a look at the fighters. Shall we?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Iron’s dressing room like the fighter was a Spartan
affair. It was just him, his trainer and his cut man. Burt was a deceivingly pedestrian
looking figure. Average height, a little build up in the shoulders, his face
was tight with scar tissue. He looked bored. He was famous throughout the fight
community for his supercilious nature. The only time he looked interested was
when in the cage. He was fifty one and zero. All by knockouts, all within the
first round, he was impossible to take down and very few even tried.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Burt.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sam, how are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fine you feeling good?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Right as rain.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Burt, you know Sir Walter?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The fighter shook his head. “Don’t know him, know of
him. How are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter grasped the outstretched hand. “No worries
mate. You ready to scrap?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Burt smiled. “For what you’re paying there ain’t much
I wouldn’t do with an attitude of enthusiasm.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter beamed back. “Well done.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“But I ain’t going to carry him. First opportunity,
I’m putting him to sleep. I know he’s juiced to the gills. A big strong boy,
but you can’t muscle up a jaw. Just so it’s understood first chance I get he’s
out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter reached out and clasped the fighter on the
shoulder. “I would expect no less. Good luck.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Burt nodded. “Thanks, he’ll need it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer’s dressing room was something different
altogether. Sam had to squeeze into the room sideways. Palmer sat on the dressing
table in the middle of the room. The table seemed to bow in the middle from the
burden it held. The room was stuffed full of men in lab coats. Sam sensed more
of an air of technicians than medical personnel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Who are these guys?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter shrugged. “Support personnel.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Support personnel?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Blokes who keep everything up and running.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam scratched his head. “He’s not a piece of
machinery.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter shook his head. “Oh, but he is. He is a
literal piece of fighting machinery. He has been designed to smash, rend and
break. He is state of the art.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer was stripped to the waist. He was vaguely
human in outline. His arms and shoulders bulged with kilos of muscle. Faint
tracings of white scarring ran up and down his arms and across his trunk. His
forehead and jaw were built up to almost comic proportions. He resembled a
nightmare. There was a fine mesh net draped across him with cables leading to a
console. Technicians were consulting the readouts and preparing dose pistols.
The hisses of various pharmaceuticals being injected into Palmer filled the
small space.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Have you tested this? Are you sure it’s going to
work? I mean that’s Iron we’re talking about.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter smirked. “He’ll wade into Iron like a warm
bath. Believe it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A technician walked over with a hand readout. “Sir
Walter?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes Robert. How are things looking?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The small pinched man looked at the readout in his
hand. “Things are looking optimal, Sir. The analogs read at good pre-fight
levels. We are getting one hundred and five percent responses from both fast
and slow twitch fibers. The density at strike points are textbook. The wetware
chips for targeting and execution are all coming back green. One moment, Sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Robert walked over to Palmer. “Could you please
stand, Sir, and trigger a fight loop?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The huge man stood. He towered over everyone else in
the room by at least a head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“OK gentlemen; let’s get this on all five inputs for
the data sync. Mr. Palmer, if you would.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The fighter began to breathe deeply, his skin flushed
and veins protruded from all visible parts of his musculature. His respiratory
rate increased and sweat broke out, falling to the floor in dime-sized drops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic. Larry what do you got on adrenal
secretion?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Looks five by five. Endorphins also at combat
levels.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Cardiac also optimal. Ninety-five percent of target
rate. Good preload and stroke volume. Pulmonary also a go, gas exchange right
on marks, spo2 a little high but blowing off right on the curve for pco2.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Give us a snap, Mr. Palmer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer threw out a punch and pulled it back in a
smooth liquid motion. Sam jerked at the snap it made. He could only make out a
blur.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Neurotransmitters are dead on. You got yourself a
go, Sir Walter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter grinned. “By all means, let’s go.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The crowd noise rose and fell in a tidal pattern. It
was near high tide as Iron made his way to the cage. Normally, as the
titleholder, he would have entered last, but part of the contract stated he
would enter first, and for what Sir Walter was paying, the sequence was of
little concern to him. He entered the cage to the music of <i>Bury Me With My
Boots On,</i> an old country favorite of his. There had been a couple of
prelims so the canvas was littered with blood-based ideograms. He hopped up and
down in place, rolling his head side to side to loosen his muscles. He felt
good. No, scratch that, he felt fantastic. He figured he had two or three more
fights in him and he was out. No reason not to go out on top.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The lights in the arena went black. The crowd, well
lubricated with Labatts Blue, howled like the damned. A red spot picked out an
entrance on the north side of the arena. A jarring buzz came over the arena’s
sound system followed by a mechanical strumming <i>Welcome My Son, Welcome to
the Machine</i>. Iron smiled; it had been years since he had heard this
particular tune. The curtains parted as a hooded figure in an ankle length robe
made its way to the cage. The crowd went crazy, screaming chants of “Machine!
Machine!” Iron watched the figure grow larger as it got closer; he had to admit
Palmer looked a lot bigger than he remembered. Since this was both a
heavyweight and a non-title match, there had been no weigh-in. This was the
first time he had laid eyes on him since a card two years ago when a Japanese
savate fighter had taken Palmer apart in two rounds. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Palmer stepped in the cage followed by a small crowd
of handlers, half of them in lab coats. Iron smirked; he hoped Palmer was
feeling well. Palmer walked to the center of the cage and undid the belt of his
robe. His corner man pulled the robe off him. A gasp ran through the arena.
Oiled under the lights Palmer looked like something from a horror flick. His
skin appeared parchment thin, absurd masses of muscle twitched and writhed,
revealing every fiber and striation. His head appeared to sit almost on top of
his collarbones; his shoulders coming almost to his ears. Turning he<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>looked at Iron. The lantern jaw and
overhanging forehead gave him a sinister cast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Iron started to not feel good about this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The announcer stepped into the cage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Welcome to Demolition!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The crowd roared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“On my right, undisputed World Champ with fifty one
wins and zero losses, Burt The Done Deal Iron!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“On my left, with a record of four wins and seven
losses, Frank Palmer the Archangel!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Burt was a little surprised by Archangel moniker. He
was pretty sure Palmer couldn’t spell Archangel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The fighters took the center of the cage. The referee
gave them their instructions. Stepping back, he yelled. “Engage!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam White watched the footage over a dozen times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It all started innocently enough. Iron circling
toward his right, looking to throw an overhand. Palmer stood hands down,
turning, not attacking, and not advancing. Iron <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>jabs with a left and follows with a hard right
to Palmer’s jaw. Palmer didn’t even blink. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam slows it down to frame by frame at this point.
And it’s still a blur. Palmer pistons out his left then pivots, throwing the
right from his waist. The impact snaps Iron’s head to his left. The force of
the blow tears Iron’s mandible from his skull. Blood falls in a large gout,
painting Iron’s chest as his jaw spins across the cage, impacting and sticking
into the mesh. Iron, with his tongue hanging down like an absurd necktie,
stands still for a moment before falling flat on his back, going into shock
before he even hits the mat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The count was foregone to make room for medical
personnel. Sam had gotten the report today that after fusing a couple of
vertebrae Iron would walk again; solid food, on the other hand, was another
question. The Qs were through the roof. It was almost in constant loop on all
outlets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter had been right. Palmer was indeed state of
the art.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 5<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
José Maganna had a full scale warm fuzzy on. He felt
so good he had to admit it made him a little paranoid. He and Donna had it out
the night before over his project. He had expressed to her that he was making
overtures to the Danish government to begin large scale development. He felt
the Danes were one of the saner governments and least likely to use it for a
military advantage. Donna naturally thought it should be turned over to the
Church. José expressed with little room for doubt that he would eat his
research dry, before he would turn it over to that bunch of bead-rolling
lunatics.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What did you make?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Donna smiled coyly, “Shrimp Diablo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, really. It’s your favorite.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I know.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His wife brought a huge pile of angel hair pasta piled
high with shrimp swiming in a spicy red sauce. She hadn’t made it since her
religious mania hit full stride. And she was serving it wearing a nice tan
knee-length skirt, her hair falling down around her shoulders. Considering her
usual mode of dress, she might as well be in a G-string and pasties. José was
savoring the spicy aroma when she set a vodka martini with lemon peel at his
hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Enjoy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was like she was a different woman. Overnight.
Like when they had first been married. He sipped<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the martini and shivered as the ice cold
vodka hit the back of his throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Perfect.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Glad you like it, honey.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thank you, honey.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She smiled broadly and sat down to her plate of
pasta.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i>Well</i>, José thought. <i>I might even get laid
tonight</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dinner went smoothly. José had four martinis and had
to be helped to the bed. Donna gently lowered him and took off his shoes and
socks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks Babe,” José slurred.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No problem honey,” Donna replied, watching her
husband drop into a martini fueled slumber.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Donna quickly cleaned up the kitchen, rinsing the
pots and plates. She wiped the stove down, humming a toneless tune just
underneath her breath. Then she went room to room in their small house shutting
all the heat vents. Going quietly into their bedroom careful not to wake her
sleeping husband, she opened both vents in there to their widest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Before meeting José she had worked in a library in a
small teaching college. She worked mostly on the weekends, so with the
exception of midterms and finals she had the place to herself. It was a good
job. She enjoyed reading and read just about anything that came across her
desk. It was part of her job to stamp and put out the new magazines. She was
putting out a medical journal called <i>Chest</i>. She thought that was a
rather cryptic title so she sat down on the quiet second floor as the late
autumn sun streamed weakly through the leaf-spattered skylights.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The title still stuck in her mind. <i>Killing With
Kindness. Capital Punishment By Nitrogen Asphyxiation.</i> A man named Stanley
Dore had published an article theorizing that putting someone to death with
nitrogen was painless. He wrote that when a person inhales odorless and
tasteless nitrogen without added oxygen, no suffocating effect would be
experienced by the subject; he would simply lose consciousness and die a short
time later. And since it didn’t involve a degree or medical skill to open a
tank valve, he felt it would be more merciful at both ends.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The basement was a surprisingly neat space. José had
a workbench and some woodworking tools. Donna reached under the bench and
pulled out a parcel that she had received via the mail a week ago. On the
packing label was her sister’s name and address. Her sister’s rent had been
paid until the end of the month and mail was still piling up. She took a box
cutter from the toolbox and slit open the top. The return address was to an ice
cream fountain supply store. She reached in and pulled out an E cylinder of
nitrogen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Unfolding a small stepladder she reached up and
pulled apart the duct under their bedroom. She sealed off the duct with tape
and some plastic they’d used for insulating the porch windows. Then reaching
for a two meter length of garden hose she had already cut. With the plastic and
tape she made another seal around the regulator and the end of the hose then
climbing back on the stepladder, cutting another hole in the plastic around the
duct and fed some hose through, and sealed it back up with the tape. She
cracked the valve just enough so the plastic puffed out as the gas flowed; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but not too much so the valve wouldn’t freeze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then, she went to the movies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James sat near a fire hydrant and pulled his Land’s
End all-weather all-terrain weekenders off and inspected the sorry state of his
poor pitiful feet. He had to admit they’d seen better days. He little resembled
the man who walked out of the power board a few short weeks ago. Ten kilos had
dropped off his frame revealing a bone structure under his face he had not seen
in years. More than the physical change was the mental. His eyes reflected the
peace that now resided within. People responded to the kindness they saw within
and reacted openly with friendship. Considering all he had were the clothes on
his back, he couldn’t remember ever feeling better.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sitting on the outskirts of Vancouver he was a little
surprised to see that it actually existed. The sun was warm on his face and the
air felt good on his feet as he leaned back in the grass. He owned nothing, had
nowhere to be and had not a care in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Mister?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James looked up to see a small blond girl standing at
the roadside; she was carrying a purse at least as large as she was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Are you alright?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James smiled. “Yep. Thanks for asking.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She sat down and started to dig through the purse.
She was in up to her armpit hard at work looking for something. A look of
triumph spread across her small features.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Would you like one?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She held out two picture-perfect Granny Smith apples.
They shone as if they had been polished. James reached and chose the smaller.
As he bit in, the crisp tart fruit flooded his mouth. It was delightful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That has to be the best apple I’ve ever had. Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The young girl smiled prettily. “My grandmother gave
them to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well be sure to thank your grandmother for me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I will. My grandmother loves me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James grinned “I’m sure she does. What’s your name?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My name is Bethany. What’s yours?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“James. You live near here?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“In that blue house across the street. Where do you
live?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James thought for a minute. “Nowhere.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You don’t have anywhere to live?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I guess I live anywhere I’m at.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Bethany’s face screwed up in concentration. “At our
church there are people who have nowhere to live. Father Gilbert helps them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really? Where does Father Gilbert live?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“At the Episcopal Church downtown.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why, thanks again, Bethany.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No problem, Mr. James.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A blond woman stepped through the door of the blue
house and did a quick look around. Spying her daughter talking to the strange
poorly dressed disheveled man, she yelled, “Bethany! Get your butt in this
house now!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh ohh,” said Bethany.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh ohh,” agreed James.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He watched the small girl beat feet to her house; the
oversized purse dragging behind her almost an afterthought. The blond woman
scooped her up, gave James a dirty look and ducked back into the house. He
couldn’t blame her. James supposed his appearance was enough reason for the
term “stranger danger.” Brushing off the dirt, he wedged his ill-used feet into
his shoes and went to find downtown Vancouver.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The biodiesel delivery truck reminded James of his
mother’s black fry pan, the smell it gave off heating up on cold mornings when
he was a kid. James smiled and Butch smiled back. Butch was in charge of all
the pick ups from the U.S. border to downtown Vancouver. Butch was dressed in a
pair of cut off denim overalls and little else. From a distance he appeared to
be wearing neck-to-ankle brown long johns. It was in fact a pelt-like covering
of body hair. Butch was the hairiest man he had ever seen. The only parts
without hair were his upper cheeks, eyeballs and teeth. And you saw a lot of
teeth. He was always grinning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You a blessed man, brother James?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James thought about it for a minute. “I don’t really
know, Butch.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, if you were you would know. I’m a blessed man
James. It is evident from the time I wake till my head hits the pillow at
night. You see those drums behind us?” Butch hooked a finger over his hairy
shoulder. “Those drums are filled with grease from diners from all over. The
remains of food that gave joy and comfort to thousands of people, I in turn pack
it up. Stuff that people would have thrown away, I turn it into fuel to help
people who would otherwise not have any way to power their cars or cook or
whatever.” Butch grinned, flashing his non-hairy teeth. “Waste not, want not.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James settled back into the heavily taped seat and
sipped the plastic cup of herbal tea that Butch poured from a big red thermos.
Butch asked where James was headed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Father Gilbert’s,” He said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It turns out that the biodiesel co-op was part of the
Episcopal church that Father Gilbert headed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ain’t that some shit?” Butch declared. “You’re
looking for Father Gilbert. I’m wheeling for him. Kismet dude, I’m telling ya.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged. He didn’t know much about kismet.
Things just seemed to be fitting together more and more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
East Hastings Street ran parallel to the water. Butch
dropped him off at the corner and gave him directions to the church. Moving
down the street, he delighted in the sights and the sounds of a vibrant growing
community. It wasn’t like California at all. Everything seemed more planned
out. There was room given for green spaces, mini parks and flower gardens.
People moved at a more leisurely clip, not hell-bent on a destination but
enjoying the bright sunshine. Further down the sidewalk James noticed a children’s
karate class in a storefront across the way. The small robed students went
through their katas in uncanny precision. He was enjoying the exhibition when a
delicious aroma caught his attention. Following his nose, he turned down an
alley and found a small square two story building. It was open on all four
sides with stools set under the wraparound counter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He saw a large man wearing a white tee shirt and
checked pants stirring several large pots. The man was dark with a large round
face topped by a shock of jet black hair. James moved up to the counter and
stood quietly until the man noticed him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can I help you, Sir?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sure smells good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Not just smells but tastes good too. Can I get you a
bowl?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He shifted from foot to foot a little uncomfortably.
“I’m sort of short on funds.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ain’t we all friend? You sober?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“As a judge.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You afraid of work?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fear a few things, work ain’t one of them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The door’s around the other side. Got some pots need
scrubbing. You knock them out I’ll toss you a big bowl and some bread to sop it
up with.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Johnny Thai had opened Noodle World about ten years
ago. He sold soup exclusively but when he first opened his English was limited;
but he knew “noodle” and “world.” So, Johnny Thai’s Noodle World. It wasn’t the
best location, set back off East Hastings, but word of mouth spread quickly. He
was open three hundred and sixty five days a year rain or shine. He lived in a
small apartment upstairs and was married to his business. And that was just
fine with him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Soup, he thought, was a song, a song about life. From
every pot he made he saved a cup to start the next one. The Thai coconut he was
stirring now had ingredients going back from the first pot he put on the burner
ten years ago. It had a history, a life, a memory that shaped and lent it
character. It was Johnny’s job to nurture it and help it grow, a job that
Johnny took very seriously. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Finding the door James stepped into the cooking area.
The interior was spotless. All surfaces were stainless steel and shined. The
floor was covered with thick black rubber mats. A huge eight burner Viking
stove stood menacingly in one corner. Each burner had a large soup pot on it
bubbling away. Against the far wall was a four-bay sink piled high with pots
and pans. Taking off his jacket, James rolled up his sleeves and moved toward
the sink.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hey, friend.” The owner tapped a framed sign by his
head said that read “All employees must wash their hands.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sorry.” James went to a small sink and scrubbed
vigorously, not missing the humor of having to wash his hands before putting
them into hot soapy water.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Paper towels underneath, you looking for Father
Gilbert?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yea, how did you know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ain’t brain surgery, you’re hungry, you’re looking
for Father Gilbert.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James grabbed a green scrubbie and went to work on
the pots. The morning trade started to pick up. The owner tended to customers
as James tended to the pots. It was early afternoon before they both sat down.
After the pots James grabbed a broom, kept the counters wiped down and cleaned
up the empty bowls and cups.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The large man ladled out two huge bowls and placed
them on the counter. He waved James over and put down two glasses of iced green
tea then reaching over and opening up a paper sack he tore off a couple chunks
of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Russian pumpernickel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James leaned over and took a long inhale. “Yes sir,
that’s the one I smelled in street. What is it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thai coconut. Dip some of that bread in it, it’s
still a little hot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James tore off a piece and dipped it in. He blew on
it before popping it inyo his mouth. It was sweet, hot and spicy. “Wonderful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks.” The large man reached over and grasped
James hand. “Johnny Thai.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“James Halbert. Thanks for the soup.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No problem, thanks for the help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James grabbed the spoon and started ladling it in.
Johnny watched with amusement as James downed the bowl in two minutes. Sweat
beaded his face as he sat back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That was wonderful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Want some more?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Johnny refilled the bowl. “Why you here, James?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He shrugged. “Seemed like a good place to go.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s what I thought too. Picked it out on a map.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I picked it out on a large power board.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Power board?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shook his head. “Never mind.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Johnny pulled out a large hand rolled cigarette. He
lit it and the air filled with a sweet pungent smoke. “Want some?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James held up a hand. “Not a tobacco user.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Not tobacco, friend. A little more.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James’ eyebrows raised. “Really?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No lie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James grabbed the joint and took in a deep lungful.
His head felt like a band had been released, allowing the skin surrounding his
skull to slide freely. “So soup, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You know why soup?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nope.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Because when the revolution starts, and it will,
they’ll come for the lawyers, the politicians, the teachers; but do you know
who they won’t come for?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James had to admit he had no idea.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The dude who makes the good soup. An asset in any
political climate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“From your mouth to God’s ear my friend. From your
mouth to God’s ear,” James said as he passed back the joint.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 6<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Supermax was located in Sainte-Anne-des-Plaines,
Quebec. Leslie’s new home. He lasted about a week in general pop, and not for
lack of trying. He kept to himself and it seemed to work initially. Most of the
other guests of the state cut him a wide berth, which was fine with him. But on
the third day in the yard he could see trouble starting across the dusty
basketball court. Some Black inmates had gathered together, pointing and
snickering. One of them, the biggest by at least a head, was giving him the stare.
Leslie just closed his eyes and leaned back against the cell block wall feeling
the weak sun on his face. He was in no hurry, it would come his way soon
enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The gen pop cafeteria was large by institution
standards. The prison had been originally a grade school that had been refitted
sometime in the distant past to serve as a correctional facility. Its walls,
doorways and hallways were made from a full meter of poured concrete. It had
been designed to be dually used for education and a fallout shelter during the
cold war. The tables folded down from the walls like a Murphy bed with benches
attached. Both table and benches were made from steel with a laminate coating. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie slid in with some difficulty into a bench at
the empty table. They had finally found a jumpsuit that would fit him. It was
still a little tight in the shoulders and chest and rode up to his calves like
knickers, but Leslie had endured worse. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lunch was Sloppy Joes, and as far as the food was
concerned Leslie had to admit it wasn’t that bad. One of the servers on the
line had taken a shine to Leslie, giggling and blushing while batting fake
eyelashes he had made himself from some frayed vinyl attached with sticky juice
residue. Leslie just stood expressionless while the smitten con carried on how
huge and handsome he was while piling his tray to Herculean heights with
whatever was the special for that day. Back at his table, he took a sawed off
plastic serving spoon from his coveralls and looked down at the red glistening
mass gleaming wantonly under the bright fluorescents<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As if by magic, a mass of white granules appeared in
the midst of Leslies Sloppy Joes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“How’s that, cracker?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie looked up and saw the black con from the yard
with an empty salt shaker in his hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That looked a little bland. Not so much now.” The
con smiled. His teeth gleamed a solid band of gold. He was tall, almost as tall
as Leslie, wrapped in layers of muscle from countless hours spent working out
as a guest of the Canadian penal system. He took the top and slowly screwed it
back on the shaker and then overhanded it, quickly bouncing it off Leslie’s
brow. Leslie knew the space was monitored by closed circuit so it would be
filthy with bulls in moments.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Exploding with a speed that belied his bulk, Leslie
reached under the table and grabbed the con by his belt. The man just had
enough time for a guttural “Urk” before Leslie jerked him back through causing
his legs to hit the bench at his knees as the underside of his jaw smashed into
the table’s edge. He hung up for a moment, his body bowing to form a “U.”
Leslie braced his feet against the floor and twisted hard at his shoulders,
pulling the unfortunate con all the way through, snapping his neck and spine
almost simultaneously. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Standing up slowly and deliberately grabbing a paper
napkin from the dispenser, Leslie wiped his spoon free of salt and approached
the table where the con had originated from. The table was silent; the formerly
jeering compatriots of the now-folded con sat respectively with hands folded so
as to allow for no misunderstandings. Leslie walked behind them, picked up each
tray and dumped the Sloppy Joes onto one tray. Alarms were now sounding and the
prisoners were all dropping face down so the guards fumbling with the gate
would not misinterpret any actions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie sat down, removed his sawed off serving spoon
and went to work on the tray of Sloppy Joes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“O.K. fuckhead! Grab some fucking floor now!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie continued to spoon at a leisurely pace
enjoying each bite.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Alright Frank, zap him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie bit the serving spoon in two as fifty thousand
volts coursed through him, plunging him into the awaiting darkness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach lay in the damp moss heavy with morning dew.
From a meter away he was invisible. He and his spotter had advanced only fifty
meters in two days, bringing them to the edge of a clearing. The mimetic sniper
camo they were wearing reproduced the moss and leaf ground cover, making Shadrach
and Danny small humps in the terrain. After eighteen months in the United
Defense Forces Shadrach was a trained sniper. Little had changed in the art of
sniping since the Revolutionary War. The main skill essential in being an
effective sniper was one that could not be taught. You could be taught to
shoot; hell, with the AR 19 Shadrach carried, if it was visible in the scope
and within a thousand meters, it was a one-shot kill. The woodcraft and
survival skills were teachable. But the ability to lay motionless for days on
end was something one was either born with or not. Shadrach and Danny had it in
spades.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They were dropped in a week ago on the Transylvania
plateau twenty five kilometers outside of Cluj-Napoca in the Carpathian
mountains. There was a problem with a paramilitary group calling themselves The
Secularists; a second generation group of renegade biologists that had come
over from Berkley twenty years ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
What had started as an agricultural compound
experimenting in ways to improve milk output and egg production had morphed
into a bioweapon think tank, specializing in aggressive organic modifications.
They had existed below the radar and were pretty much left alone until the “War
Dog” incident in the Balkans. Six months before, an urban pacification squad
went to break up a black market shoulder launched missile stash. They met no
resistance and found the suspect building abandoned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Moving down into the basement to confiscate the
contraband is when the problem presented itself. The squad moved down on night
vision to secure the space. One of the team found the switch and kicked on the
lighting. Out of the corners came two low growling shapes moving fast . Before
weapons could be brought to bear the dogs were on them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Each weighed in at close to ninety kilos. They had
once been mastiffs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They now were that—and a lot more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Both were wrapped in organic Kevlar making all vital
organs impervious to standard caseless rounds. Adrenal analogs flooded their
systems, supercharging unnaturally dense muscle, rocketing them across the
floor. Their brains were altered to allow them to exist in two states, passive
docility or unreasoning, unrelenting savagery. The black marketers had injected
the two with a time-release hormone which would turn on the dogs, who would now
fight till they were dead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The first hit the solider chest level, knocking him
from his feet. Shoving his muzzle forward the dog opened his jaw to an
unnatural width and tore out the victim’s throat with triple rows of razor
sharp teeth. One of the squad opened up, followed by the others a split second
later. The small space filled with the acrid smell of propellants and the
rattle of close quarter arms fire. The bullets scored along the dogs’ hide,
unable to penetrate the organic Kevlar while bouncing off the calcified alloy
skulls. This drove the dogs to new levels of mayhem and they tore into the
soldiers with renewed ferocity. The roar of gunfire was replaced by screams and
the sounds of blood painting the walls and floors. The dogs moved through the
squad with a frightening intensity. The com tech saw the op coming apart. He
broke for the stairs, sliding, and slipped in the gore-covered floor. One of
the mastiffs raised its misshapen head and caught the movement. It covered the
three meter distance in a single leap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The com tech was on his hands and knees scrambling up
the steps when the dog slammed down on top of him. The dog crunched down,
tearing into the sat com rig, ripping it from the soldier’s back. The tech grabbed
the edge of the door and heaved himself from under the dog onto the first
floor. He kicked it shut with his left foot and toed the deadbolt home with his
right.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Laying on his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps
he tried to figure out how a simple smash and secure went tits up. A huge bang
and the door rattled on its hinges. The tech rolled over to his feet and went
to the transport to get just what the fucking dogs needed. The night was cool
and silent. There was not a light to be seen. He pulled out his
flashlight,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>powered up the coms and
radioed back to base. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Eyrie this is Razorback do you copy?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A static hiss filled the transport.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Razorback this is Eyrie we have you five by five
what is sit rep?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The squad is down. Dogs tore them to pieces. I got
just what those fuckers need.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A squawk rang out. “Say again Razorback. Repeat from
squad down.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The solider ignored the radio, pulling out gear from
the back of the transport until he found what he was searching for. The satchel
charge was a two by two solid brick of concentrated Simtex with an integral
fuse. Pull the tab, toss it; ten seconds later the offending bunker or safe
house was a memory. The solider returned and moved to the door, listening for
movement. He heard nothing, put his hand on the door and pushed. Feeling no
resistance, he pushed the tab on the satchel activating the timer. The readout
started at ten. He slowly pulled back the deadbolt with his right hand,
gripping the satchel by the handle in his left preparing to crack the door,
toss the satchel and withdraw before the house goes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The door cracked, the readout was at eight when the
dogs hit the door. The impact slammed the com tech back against the wall. The
dogs were on him. One bit into his leg pulling off his calf in a snap. The
second dog was at his chest snapping for his throat. Screaming, the solider
jammed the satchel into his jaws. The dog bit down and pulled it from his
grasp. The dog then lifted his blood-drenched muzzle and shook his head side to
side to free the Simtex from its jaws. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The blast reduced the house to its foundation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The three men broke from cover slowly. Danny saw them
before Shadrach did. Shadrach could feel the stillness and concentration coming
from Danny and turned to looked in the direction of the men. They were the
other elements of their team they had been waiting for. Shadrach and Danny
stood, slowly allowing blood flow back into their stiff muscles. The three men
were the rest of the team. Shadrach and Danny hit the camo tabs in their cuffs,
shutting down the smart fabric which acted to mirror their immediate
surroundings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ladies!” Master Chief Wallace said, walking up and
shaking Shadrach’s and Danny’s hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Master Chief” they responded in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Any eyes on the target?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach brought up the tac screen sewn into his
sleeve. “Twice yesterday at 0935 and 1610. Both times no clear shot. Both times
moving in and out of the compound. Out from under cover for maybe five-ten
seconds at the time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good I.D.s?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Danny nodded. “Both match up on biometric index.
Ninety eight percent match on scope profiles.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good enough.” The Master Chief grinned under his
camo paint. A sturdy stocky man well into his fifties, he had originally been a
SEAL before the armed forces consolidation. He was the only Veteran on the
team. He trained the teams and took them out on shakedowns to weed out any
problems. He was probably the most competent man Shadrach had ever met. Edward
and Louis stood at his shoulder. Cousins, they were as identical as twins. Louis
was coms, Edward was demolitions. Both notoriously tight lipped; Shadrach
couldn’t remember hearing two words from them in six months.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“O.K. girls, hunker down.” Master Chief pulled out a
smart screen and smoothed it out on the grass. The fabric came to life,
bringing into view a fuzzy indistinct overhead shot from a sat pass of the
compound. “This is the main compound where you saw the targets moving in and
out from?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach pointed at the screen. “This large five
sided building is where the targets entered and exited from.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why so fuzzy Chief?” Danny asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Mater Chief shrugged. “They are using some sort of
scrambler. That’s why we can’t get a lock on it. That’s why were going to have
to paint it for the drop. The ordnance will key in on the laser for the hit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Edward squatted down and peered at the display. “Why
no grab?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Chief rubbed his close shorn scalp. “We are
actually the second team in. The first was an eight man snatch and grab. The
last coms were two hours before the scheduled grab. That was the last known
contact. No coms, so no risks this time. We confirm targets and light up the
building, guide the munitions in, then <i>di di</i>. Sweet and easy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Master Chief rolled up the screen and stored it
away in his rucksack. As he stood, up, he squinted at the horizon. “How far to
target?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach peered at his tech screen. “Nine point five
klicks from this point. We come in from the east. The compound is set in a
bowl. We will be above and out of line of sight until directly on it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Chief grunted. He didn’t like the sound of it.
The first team disappeared too easy, too neat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No sign of any patrols? Nothing? Any perimeter
screen?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Danny shook his head. “We circled it from a klick
out, nothing. I had my sniffer out and not a twitch. No transmissions at any
level. No power signature, even at passive levels. There weren’t even broken
trails from foot patrols. The place looks residential, a couple of living
quarters, common hall and school, some outbuildings, a ball diamond and the
research facility.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s all pretty close, Chief. The research facility
is right on top of the other buildings. At most twenty meters between
structures.” Shadrach added.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Chief grinned. “No sweat. Coming in with a
cellulose shell high altitude penetrator. The engine drops off at twenty
thousand, guides in on the laser. No fragmentation. The only non-organic
components are the explosive and the guidance package. It will break through
the top two floors and explode at ground level. Minimum projectile profile.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The five stood in silence. Shadows were starting to
lengthen as the sun fell behind the high mountains. Across the field coming
down from the ridgeline was a large shambling shape moving along on all fours.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What the fuck is that?” Eddie asked raising his
weapon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Danny pulled out his spotting scope and dialed it in.
“I don’t know. Take a look Shad.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach took a long look. “I think it’s a bear.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Louis shook his head. “No way, not in Europe. No
fucking bears.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Actually,” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Chief offered, “this is one of the few
areas in Europe where there are bears.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re sure it ain’t a War Dog, Chief?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
At this they all dropped silent. The large brown
shape stood on its hind legs, sniffed then turned and rumbled back to the tree
line. There was a collective sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Like I said, a bear. Let’s get a move to the target
point. I want us in by midnight with perimeters set. We guide the munitions in
following target confirmation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They moved out single file into the gathering
darkness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James settled into the worn easy chair with something
like relief. It had been a long day. The old Airstream had seemed a little
small at first but he was warming to it. Father Gilbert was just what James
needed. A good happy man, he treated James like long lost family. Old and wizened,
Father Gilbert barely topped James’ shoulder. But for what he lacked in size he
made up for in enthusiasm. His church was a beehive of eclectic activity. At
any time of the day or night it resembled a cross between the Berlin Airlift
and the Woodstock music festival. James had wandered in during a food drive.
The main chapel had been piled almost to the rafters with all manner of
foodstuffs. Bags of rice spilling over into open bags of lentils and onions.
Leaning pyramids of canned goods stacked up against cases of donated water.
Father Gilbert’s gift was inspiring people to give. His organizational skills,
on the other hand, were somewhat lacking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James came in, threading himself through the chaos
and made his way toward the small smiling man in the priest’s collar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Father Gilbert?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He turned and hit James with a huge toothy smile. His
gray hair was styled in a shaggy brush cut and his faded blue eyes were sunken
in a nest of laugh lines.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good morning, how are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m fine, Father.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic. How’s the family?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ahhhh, don’t have any family to speak of.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This caught Father Gilbert’s attention. “Really? I
have no idea who you are. Do I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shook his head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And you don’t know me, do you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic. I love starting with no one at an
advantage. So are you here to help or be helped?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James thought for a moment. “Both.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic! Give before you receive and all that,
come I’ll show you what you need to do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Father led James to a pair of tables covered in
canned goods. He pulled a large cardboard box from under the tables. Making two
sweeps with his arms, he emptied the lion’s share into the box and pushed it
back under the tables.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“This is your station. Were you a military man?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good. Useless profession. Anyway you take one of
these.” He reached under the tables and found a large plastic bag filled with
smaller plastic bags. “Take a bag and go around and fill it with enough
foodstuffs for two days. Two cans meat, two starches, two veggies. You get the
idea?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic!” Father Gilbert beamed. We open the doors
in ten, good luck.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He walked off towards the tumult and turned back
suddenly. “Oh, how can we help you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Food and a place to sleep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s it? You’re in luck. Sam just moved out of the
Airstream. He’s going to school to be a taxidermist. And as for food,” he swept
his arms, “the Lord provides.’”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The doors opened and the multitudes flooded in. To
James it resembled a fire sale. What looked like a good portion of Vancouver’s
unfortunates had gotten the word. At the beginning James attempted to fill bags
according to the Father’s directions. It was like trying to hold back the ocean
with a broom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After about 15 minutes he
just handed the bags out and let them have a go. It took less than two hours
for them to clean the place out to its corners. And then they left as quickly
as they came.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Gilbert walked over looking a little
disheveled but otherwise none the worse for wear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well done, James isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We helped a lot of people. Even if it’s just for a
day or two. No greater good than feeding the hungry, don’t you agree?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Speaking of which, are you hungry?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James had to admit he was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic, this way.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James followed the Father out of the chapel and
through some double doors into a large kitchen. Four of the other parishioners
who worked the food pantry were seated around a table drinking coffee and eating
soup. A large pot sat on one of the burners bubbling slowly. The smell made
James’s mouth water.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Father Gilbert produced two bowls and ladled them to
the brim. “Here you go James. Enjoy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thanks. What is it?’<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“White bean and sausage.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“From Johnny Thai’s Noodle World?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“None other. You know Johnny?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. “A good man.”<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Indeed” Father Gilbert agreed. “And a good
man makes a good soup.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s what he told me. And I would have to agree.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They both sat down and pulled pieces off a big loaf
of black pumpernickel. James dipped his into the soup and pushed it steaming
into his mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Delicious.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Indeed,” Father Gilbert nodded. “Have you met the
girls?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The four women looked up and smiled. They then
returned to their soup with relish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And they work cheap. For nothing, God bless.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The four looked back up. “No, God bless <i>you</i>,
Father,” they said in unison and returned their attention to the aforementioned
soup.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“When you finish up here I’ll show you your new
digs.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sounds great.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They moved to the back of the rectory. From the state
of disarray, James could see that the chaos of the food pantry was not an
isolated event. It seemed to be the hallmark of Father’s Gilbert’s life. Moving
some chairs and a broken wardrobe gave Father Gilbert access to the door he was
seeking. Putting his shoulder to it, he forced it open exposing the church’s
backyard, which had seen better days. Overgrown with milkweed and honeysuckle,
it more resembled a pasture than a lawn. In the far corner of the lot sat a
rust-pitted Airstream; against it leaned a ancient push mower.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Digging in his front trouser pocket Father Gilbert
produced a fistful of keys. He selected one, seemingly at random, then put it
in the lock and opened the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s not much but Sam liked it,” Father Gilbert said
climbing in. “It’s got a small kitchenette with a working toilet and shower.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James followed him in. It was surprisingly spacious
and clean. There was a small bunk, a well-worn easy chair with end table topped
by a consignment shop light with a sailing ship printed parchment shade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James smiled. It felt perfect.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So James, what brings you to Vancouver?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James shrugged. “Saw it on a map.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really? Well, good for you. You shovel in the
winter, lawn work in the summer, and what ever the other seasons call for.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James nodded. He’d seen the state of the yard. It
didn’t seem a very high bar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What did you do before you found Vancouver on a
map?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Not much. Pretty well practiced not eating or
sleeping and being miserable.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Father scratched his head. “Well, you eat well.
Whatever you choose to practice is your business. Welcome aboard, Son.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
James grinned and reached out his hand. “Thank you
Father.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Father grasped it firmly then pointed a index
finger skyward. “Don’t thank me. Thank God.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Moving over James switched on the electric heater. It
was in the design of a small fireplace. The faux flames flickered to life
pretending to consume the imaginary log. James sat back and soaked in the real
warmth. It was starting to feel cool at night. Soon James would be raking. He
hoped you could burn leaves in Vancouver. Some of his fondest memories were of
the fall. He had grown up in the Northeast. On the Vermont/New Hampshire border
along the Connecticut river. His grandfather was a dairy farmer, or had been.
James can’t ever remember seeing any cows. He did remember that the barn had a
severe western tilt and everyone was warned against going in it. It was a time
when summer stretched for months. Days seemed to linger and nights hung on
grimly till morning. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In late August the trees would start to blaze at the
edges. The progress became tangible almost to the naked eye. James remembered
standing there with the toes of his sneakers soaked, waiting for the sun to
chase the chill that found him first in his grandmother’s kitchen in the
morning, shivering in front of the stand-alone gas heater. He tried to absorb
the warm air into his body while fighting mightily the urge to pee which had
pulled him from his warm bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Breakfast would be a huge pile of scrambled eggs
hidden under strips of bacon that his grandmother cooked only enough to get the
grease popping. They would bend in the middle as James folded them into his
mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
After breakfast he and his grandfather would spend
the mornings raking the leaves into huge piles. Sweat would lie thick under his
shirt as the sun rose high in the sky. Lunch would be on the porch with the
cracked stone underneath. Dinner would drag with the weight of anticipation for
what he knew was coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Then at dusk his grandfather would set the piles
alight. It seemed to James the flames would reach high into the sky. His face
would be stuck in a grin, cemented to his features with a mixture of sweat and
soot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The small electric heater brought all this back in a
moment. James could feel himself fall back into the body of a grown man,
leaving the nostalgic balm that had enveloped him. He crossed over to the small
bunk, removed and folded his clothing carefully. Climbing in between worn but
clean sheets he switched off the light. The sounds of a busy nighttime
Vancouver filtered through the travel trailer’s thin metal walls. Sleep found
him as it had forty two years earlier and pulled him into a deep untroubled
slumber.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 7<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon was on the verge of screaming out of sheer
frustration. He was attempting to move a almost three meter ridiculously heavy
cardboard tube up a very tight flight of stairs. Helping him was Dick from work
who was now also, much to Gideon’s chagrin, his roommate. A good natured and
well meaning gentleman with one drawback. He was baked. When Dick was not at
work he was fried at the first opportunity. He smoked genetically modified humbolt
which possessed the paralyzing effect of its natural cousin but would not show
up on drug screens. So although he was helpful, he was as dumb as a bowl of
pudding.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, ya got to listen. It won’t go up straight. We
can’t bend it. It gets a crack in it we are out a month’s pay. Do you
understand?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You bet.” Dick assured him.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, stop pushing it fuckhead.” Gideon set it down
carefully motioning to Dick to do the same. They were at a company housing
outside Allentown. It turned out to be surprisingly well maintained, and they
could take the maglev right from the seed storage. When relieved you switched
out of your kit, signed the weapons over to the armory and you were on the lev
and home within ten minutes. The rent was taken out of their pay before they
saw it so they hardly missed it. At their pay grade there were two to an
apartment. Each had his own bedroom with small full bath. There was a common
room-slash-kitchen which they shared. The complex had over a thousand units so
it resembled a small city. He and Dick had decided to spring for a wall
monitor. The apartment had multi feed hookups. So how hard could it be?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Pretty fucking hard it turned out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why don’t we just pass it up through the window?” Fentes
asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What floor do we live on you wingnut?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah, third.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah. That’s right. The third. And how do we hand up a
cardboard tube ten meters which by the way is so fucking heavy it takes two to
lift it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, fucking ‘oh’ is right.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon looked at the overhead, at a total loss as to
how to continue. Then the elevator opened. Diane stepped out. Diane worked in
advertising. She was blond and perky and just glowed with health and sexuality.
She sort of intimidated Gideon. She sort of made Dick crazy with lust.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Gentlemen,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Diane,” they responded in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What ya got there?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“A wall screen,” they answered again in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Can’t get it up the stairs, huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They both shook their heads no.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, I’ll show you a trick.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This had Dick’s undivided attention. She pulled a
security tab out of her very tight gym shorts, stepped into the elevator and
hit the button for the basement. The door shut and the elevator indicators
changed from the first floor to the basement. Diane then took the security tab
and put it into a slot and the elevator door slid open. The shaft was empty;
the top of the car could be seen a floor below.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fireman key,” she smiled. “The car will stay as long
as the door’s open. I’ll go the next floor up, open that door and we’ll pull it
up to the next floor. Then I’ll go to the next floor and open it and we’ll pull
it up one more to your floor. Got it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yea, that’s pretty sharp, Diane,” Gideon said,
impressed. Dick, who was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mightly
impressed with her shorts luckily said nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ten minutes later, that awkward daisy chain had the
screen outside their door. Diane, after some pulling and grunting, removed her
sweat top, leaving her just in shorts and a crop top.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This made Dick pretty much useless for the remainder
of the screen move. Luckily Diane was as strong as she was attractive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“C’mon fuzznuts, grab a side, we are almost done.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dick redoubled his effort. Gideon grabbed the
opposite side and they pulled the screen upright against the wall. The material
was malleable but would stiffen once the power was turned on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“O.K. Is it level on your side? Good, I’m going to
hit the juice.” Gideon thumbed a tab and the composite material became stiff.
Both of them stood back and looked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Look good to you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dick shrugged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Alright, here we go.” Gideon pushed the adhere tab
and the screen became soft where it made contact with the wall. It spread from
the contact points, pulling itself onto the wall surface to finally adhere to
it like a coat of paint. In a few moments it became indistinguishable from the
wall itself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Man that is freaky.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Got to agree with you there, Brother Fentes. That
was a neat piece of technology. Now let’s see if it works.” Gideon walked over
to the router and switched it on. The screen went to a test pattern. Solid bars
of primary color marched across the screen, then dissolved into an outdoor
scene of a large snow capped vista.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nice mountain.” Dick muttered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Let’s see if we can bring up the menu.” Gideon faced
the screen and said clearly, “Bring up menu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The menu sprang up on the screen displaying a
cornucopia of video or audio choices. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Bring up live feed menu.” The screen switched to
listings of over twelve hundred available shows and broadcasts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Whoa!” Dick said feeling overwhelmed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I agree. You got anything in mind?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dick thought for a moment. Then a blissful smile
broke. “<i>Things I Regret</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon sighed. He should have known better. It was a
show consisting of college aged girls doing things on camera that they were
sure to regret once they sobered up or got gainful employment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Show <i>Things I Regret</i>.” The screen switched to
a shot of a young, drunk and heroically busty young woman who was attempting to
untangle herself from her t-shirt while being sprayed by a hose off camera.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fantastic,” Dick muttered, pulling up one of the two
neo-Scandinavian loungers. All the furniture was neo-Scandinavian, which meant
it was all minimal in design and as well as minimal in comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dick had retrieved his power hitter and was vaporizing
small amounts of humbolt and stoking the embers of his failing high. Gideon
went to the refrigerator and searched for something edible. He located some
sweet and sour tuna and spiced rice crackers. Shutting the door he tapped out
an order on the fridge’s touch screen that would be delivered the following
morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, dude! You got to see this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon went over and pulled up his neo-Scandinavian
lounger. On screen was another busty naked young woman, this time blindfolded.
She was being wrapped in doubled sided tape. Then she rolled around on the
floor doing her best to pick up as many of the yellow feathers that were
scattered about. The purpose of this eluded Gideon as much as it delighted
Dick.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Are you happy, man?” Gideon asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Fucking ecstatic.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon shook his head. “I don’t mean right now, I
mean in general.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This caught Dick off guard. “You mean on an
existential level?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This caused Dick’s normally un-furrowed brow to
furrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, I’m not even sure what existential means.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You know, happy with your station in life?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Station in life?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon sighed. “Is this what you wanted to do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dude, I don’t want to do anything except get stoned
or laid or both. If ADM is bad there are lots of worse gigs than walking around
guarding seeds. I mean seeds don’t exactly bitch.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You got a point there. But I just can’t see myself
doing this for years. Getting in the pipeline. Ya know, company man, like a
Japanese corporation, a <i>zaibatsu</i>. Getting up and singing the company
anthem and all that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dick raised his hands. “Dude I work so when I’m not
working I can do this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah I guess.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
An icon flashed on the wall screen. A priority
message was in Gideon’s mailbox.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Open, please.” Gideon said as he watched the
contents of the message scrolled across the screen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well dude, looks like you got an appointment at
medical for a screen. Been doing anything I should know about?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Gideon shook his head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Then don’t sweat it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The office was a shrine to dark oak. The only light
came from a data screen that was in sleep mode. The heavy baroque door swung
open suddenly, driving the knob with enough force to gouge a chunk of wood out
of the wainscoting behind it. Chief of Staff Stone stalked in with
thunderclouds on his brow. A short broad man, he radiated menace from every
pore. He was dressed in a black sweatshirt and slacks, eyes puffy from sleep.
He had been awoken from a deep sleep at four in the morning by a courier with a
DNA tab receipt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone had taken possession, dismissing the messenger
with a growl. Inside the satchel was a data tab that could only be read by a
secure console which was at the office. Stone sat behind his desk bringing the
system online. His large head was covered with dark stubble that covered his
face as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone was formerly auxiliary Bishop under former
Archbishop of New York Edward Fegan, who was now the junior Senator form the
Great State of New York. Stone was a “cleaner.” As an auxiliary Bishop he
handled any delicate matters that popped up in the Archdiocese Neo-Eboracensis
(Latin for the Archdiocese of New York) which mostly involved taking care of
cases of inappropriately amorous priests. Now he was involved in the even less
tasteful matters of government. He was questioning his role in the Church. He
thought the Archbishop’s move into government would advance the Church’s cause.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
That did not seem to be the case. It seemed, as much
as he did not want to admit it, that the Church was on the decline. Once the
most populous religion in the world it now ranked a distant third behind
Moslems and the Evangelicals and at par with <i>God help him </i>the Mormons.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
With the system now online, Stone leaned forward,
allowing his retinas to be scanned for the I.D. database. He slid the data tab
into the reader. The system flashed an Alpha priority. This caused Stone’s
eyebrows to rise. In his entire service to the Church he had never seen an
Alpha priority. He called up the Alpha Authenticate procedure which involved a
serum scan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
How the hell do you do a serum scan at five in the
morning?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The answer came with a whirr which caused him to jerk
his elbows off the desk. A slot appeared in which arose a serum scanner. Stone
place his thumb firmly in the depression and winced as the unseen needle
pricked his finger and drew his blood for analysis. A moment passed as unseen
machinery matched the blood’s composite makeup with Stone’s on the Church’s
database.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He matched; the database released the data tab’s
information to his monitor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Jesus Wept.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone was stunned. What was on his screen defied
belief. He read the summary quickly and then reread it. The implications were
astounding. If it had not come from the Vatican himself he would have
disregarded it as a hoax. He sat with his chin on his fist as he pondered his
next move.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
One, he would bring Woolsey here under his direct
supervision. Stick him in a retreat up in the Catskills and put him under a security
envelope so he can’t take a shit without asking permission. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Two, find the woman and bring her under his control
immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Three, bring in Church lawyers and academics to
confirm the data and the Church’s ownership.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And most important how to use this to his direct
advantage. Fegan, though dedicated and pious, was a dolt. He would have to be
removed and isolated at the earliest opportunity. His own contacts within Rome
were scarce but no matter. Fegan was a favorite. He had even been mentioned as
being on the short list when the current Pontiff shrugged of his mortal coil.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Call Father Woolsey.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The office was silent as the system sought out the
number in question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Calling,” the room responded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Ah hello?” A sleep-fogged voice came online.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Woolsey, Stone here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Who?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Bishop Stone out of the New York Archdiocese.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone glowered at the empty room. “Listen closely.
This is Bishop Stone out of the Archdiocese of New York. This call is about the
package you sent. Are we on the same screen?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Silence came across the line. “Yes Bishop.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Now this woman who gave you this information, is it
hers to give?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Her husband passed away suddenly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Suddenly?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“In his sleep apparently.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And what does this pious young lady want for this
gift to the Church?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She wants her sister declared a nun and buried in a
Church cemetery.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone was nonplussed. “Does the sister want to be a
nun?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She’s dead.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone sighed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Did she want to be a nun while alive?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She was on track, but was being asked to leave. She
was with child.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“At the Convent? Who was the father?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“She claimed God.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone gripped his head. “How did she die?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Killed actually.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Killed?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“A statue of the Archangel Gabriel fell on her at the
opening of a new Parish in Portland.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Of course it did. And all her sister wants is for
her to be declared a nun and buried in a Church sanctioned cemetery?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s the gist of it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Well if this information is legit I’ll declare her
sister Pope and bury her with red slippers. I want you and her on the first
tilt out of Portland in the morning. Tickets will be waiting. Capish?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Tomorrow first thing. Got it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Very well.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Stone broke the connection and sat very still in his
chair. Things that had been embryonic in his mind a few minutes earlier were
now advancing rapidly toward maturation. Once this became general knowledge
among the Church hierarchy it would become hard for Stone to hang on to his advantage.
He would see to it that this would not happen. Stone stood and looked out the
large bay window, watching the gray dawn creep into the awakening New York. He
stood stock-still and waited. The answer would present itself. It always did.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For he was Stone and the Lord would provide.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Man I don’t know, it could be too freaky even for
our venue.” Sam White watched the footage of a fighter sent in by a French
biotech firm. The gentleman in question appeared grotesque. According to the
specs on the bottom of the screen, he was almost two and a half meters tall and
weighed in at close to three hundred kilos. They must have altered his spine in
some fashion because his head seemed to sit directly on his chest. The bone
built up around the eyes and jaw gave him a barely human profile. Sprouting
from a barrel-like chest sprang two huge arms that were jointed in three
places. The multi-jointed arms ended in mallet-like fists in which the fingers
were fused, forming a sledgehammer-like appendage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he is formidable. But we have
to draw a line somewhere. I mean Jesus, what if someone decides to graft a
rhino horn or a huge parrot’s beak on some slub’s face? With the new spectrum
of immunosuppressives anything is fucking possible. Yes, yes, I realize the
time and expense you went through but we can’t use them. Please stick to the
guidelines set up for fighters’ adaptations on Cage Incorporated fighter
application. Thanks for your interest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam broke the connection and stared at the ceiling.
Things were sort of spinning out of control. The interest since Demolition had
been off the charts. He had been dealing with offers from private and corporate
interests. Stables of augmented fighters were popping up like mushrooms in a
damp crawl space.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He was struggling to keep showcases down to one a
month. Sir Walter had copyrighted augmented contests. Any martial contest
between any combatants augmented in any fashion not sponsored by Cage Inc.
would be in direct copyright violation. Not that it was slowing down the
underground traffic, but above board it was his ball game. He tabbed up new
footage under Monsanto’s logo. The fighter came out. quickly taking the center
of the cage. He was tall and well muscled. Any enhancements were subtle—nothing
running to the obvious. He circled his opponent feinting with a jab. Then
quicker than Sam could follow, the Monsanto fighter spun around, coming off his
left foot, he caught his opponent flush with a spinning back kick. The impact
took his opponent off his feet, dropping him in a lifeless heap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam backed up the footage and ran it again at one
tenth speed. Very impressive, nice and clean and controlled. He made a note on
the footage and the fighter’s designation, weight class, etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He let out a sigh as he fumbled through his desk and
located the new telepresence rig Sir Walter had sent out. He did not like it.
The whole telepresence experience made him uncomfortable. The rapid transition
from reality to null space always made him queasy. He had to be sitting. He had
tried it a couple of times standing and had fallen over on his face because of
the vertigo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He found the tiara in one of the bottom drawers of
his new desk it. Like his office the desk was all streamlined metal with
chromed Art Deco angels. The whole office looked like a nineteen thirties
version of Tomorrowland. The new office was located in one of Sir Walter’s high
stacks in Battery Park at the southern tip of Manhattan. “The birthplace of New
York,” Sir Walter liked to say—and did often.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He looked at his watch and realized he was due to be
on in two minutes. Taking the tiara, he wiped his forehead with some pads
impregnated with conductive gel. The tiara was fifth generation. It worked on
skin conductivity, which was fine with Sam. The idea of anything, even micro
filaments, drilling into his head made him uneasy. He fit the tiara on, making
sure the pickup pads made maximum contact. Then he hit the switch cradled in
his palm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The room fell away abruptly leaving him in a dark
horizonless space. He hung there for what seemed like an eternity until he
found himself sitting in a chair in Sir Walter’s spacious kitchen overlooking
Sydney’s harbor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, you wanker. What’s the good word eh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
It was Sir Walter dressed in stylish tennis whites.
He was holding a large fish and a strangely shaped knife. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Been fishing?” Sam asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Bloody obvious that is.” He flapped the fish on the
cutting block. Sam could see with some discomfort that it was still alive.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What are you going to do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“About sharp as a marble today, huh, Sammie? I’m
going take this nice khurku here,” he said pointing at the wicked curved knife,
“and I’m going to slice old Tommie the tuna here into sashimi.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter attacked the unfortunate fish with a vigor
and lack of knowledge that made Sam glad he was only witnessing a construct. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“There.” There was little left of the fish that was
recognizable. It certainly didn’t resemble any of the neatly cut and arranged
sushi Sam was familiar with.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That looks great,” Sam offered.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter looked up, his tennis whites dripping in
blood. He picked up a towel and wiped some of it from his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Don’t be a bloody idiot. That was a bloody massacre
that was. Luckily the wife got some vegemite around somewhere.” He began to
bang through the cabinets. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sir Walter, I have some ideas about Cage.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Really?” He looked up with half a stick of pepperoni
in his mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I think we should stick to strictly Corporate
stables.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter looked thoughtful for a moment. “You may
have a point. I saw the footage that frog bio tech sent in. That was an ugly
wanker, heh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“My feelings exactly. We should stick to the big
multinationals. Less freak more performance.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, there is an upside and a downside to that. The
upside is that at least for now, you’re getting a better product. The downside
is if something goes balls up they’d be off faster than a prom dress. But I’m a
silent partner mate. Cage is your baby, it’s your show.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I realize that, Sir Walter. I just wanted to give ya
a heads up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sir Walter tore off a big chunk of pepperoni and
mumbled around it. “We’ll I’m going to hop in the shower, eh? No worries.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Sam White found himself sitting back in his office,
stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. He couldn’t shake the
feeling that he was just told it was his show and he was on his own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Supermax cell was just a little wider than Leslie
as he lay back on his bunk. They had him here in little less than two hours
following his little show at gen pop. He had woken up in four point restraints
in a rapid deployment helicopter. He was groggy from the stun but could still
feel the rise and fall of the aircraft. On landing, it was full dark in the
Supermax yard. They rolled up a forklift and connected it to the reinforced
carbonfiber board he was shackled to. There was a scraping sound as he was
pulled out of the copter and swung free in the cool night air.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well, well. Isn’t it our playful little friend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie moved his eyes (the only thing not restrained)
and saw the speaker. A tall drink of water with long graying hair pulled back
in a ponytail. His chin was covered with a wispy goatee. Peering through gold
rimmed granny glasses, he seemed on the verge of telling a humorous story. He
had his hands in the pockets of an old sweat jacket. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So friend, how’s it going to be?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie, gagged, just looked at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sorry man. You can’t really answer, can you? Paul if
you would be so kind?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A bull separated himself from the other guards and
unbuckled the leather gag. The large rubber bite block was pulled roughly from
Leslie’s mouth leaving his lips stinging.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So what’s it going to be, Tiny?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Just wanted to eat my Sloppy Joe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Warden took off his glasses and unzipped his
sweater jacket. Pulling out the tail of his wash-faded CBGBs t-shirt he
polished the lenses. “You just wanted to eat your Sloppy Joe, huh? And that
gentleman you stomped to death with your size twenty sevens somehow impeded
that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie gave an abbreviated shrug. “Wasn’t bothering
nobody, just trying to get my feed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well I can dig that. A little enthusiastic but I can
dig it .That won’t be a problem here of course. Twenty three hours a day you
will be in your cell. One hour each day you will be let into a small exercise
yard depending on your behavior. This will be my call, after all.” He spread
his hands palms up. “This is my house.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie said nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Quiet type huh? All the better. Oh, there is one
other thing. Doc?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A small man dressed in a white lab coat came forward
dragging a step ladder behind him. He put the bottom of the ladder at Leslie’s
feet and rested the top on his chest. Then climbing up and he pulled a
disturbingly large gun looking apparatus from his bag and fitted a magazine to
it. He then placed the muzzle behind Leslies left ear. There was a loud pop, a
sharp pain followed. The procedure was repeated on the right. He then clambered
down the ladder and walked back to the group.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Remove the restraints.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The guards moved on him and in short work released
him. Leslie stood and rubbed his wrists. The Warden walked forward and offered
his hand. Leslie stood dumbly for a moment and took it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Warden Gool. You can call me Goolie, everyone else
does. I don’t have any trouble here; it’s a pretty mellow place actually. And
I’ll show you why.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He let go and stood back about a meter. “It’s called
a subcutaneous capacitor. Hit him Paulie. High range, he’s a big boy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The guard was fidgeting with something Leslie
couldn’t make out; then it didn’t matter. It hit him hard starting just behind
his ears and traveling down his spine and into his legs in an instant. It dropped
him to his knees with his mouth spread wide in a silent scream. His lungs
burned as if filled with acid, his eyes felt like they were about to burst.
Each individual tooth sang in its socket as if the nerves were exposed. Then it
stopped as quickly as it had started.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Sorry about that. But we give every one a taste at
the start, saves a lot of time, really.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie pulled himself to his feet. The pain that was
so all encompassing was now all gone without a trace. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Nerve induction, no real damage. But you can’t tell
while it’s happening. But then, I’m not O.K., you’re not O.K. But hey…” The
Warden made a gun with his hand and moved his thumb forward like a trigger.
“That’s O.K,” he nodded toward the guard. “Put ’em in C sixteen.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The small television was a six centimeter screen set
flush in the bulkhead next to the slab of ferrocrete that served as his bunk.
It was black and white and only got one channel that Leslie had no control
over. It seemed to be a Catholic channel out of Montréal; it featured a priest
in long robes and a skull cap. Leslie thought he bore an uncomfortable
resemblance to Dracula.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie was nothing if not patient. Not a bright man,
he possessed the ability to completely empty his mind and think of nothing
creating almost a Zen level of emptiness or a reptilian void of waiting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yo, Tiny.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie startled to awareness. Paulie was standing in
his open cell door. In his hand he held a small remote. “You remember this,
right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie nodded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Good; ’cause you even twitch, it’s bad dreams for a
week. Now this must be your lucky day. I’ve been here for six years and have
never seen anyone get a visitor. I don’t get how you rate and I don’t care. You
walk in front. Step when I step and when you sit put your hands on the table
and await further instructions. Now go.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie stepped out into the hallway and moved
deliberately ahead of the guard. He passed other cells indicated by the monitor
screens located by the keypads which gave the guards a full view of the
inmates. The hallway ended in a thick door secured with a mag lock.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Stop and stand back against the wall. You move, you
drop.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie stood back as the guard keyed in the sequence.
The thick door disengaged with a thunk and swung open slowly. Leslie stepped
into the room and sat in the one of the two chairs at the table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The chair and table are keyed to this remote.” He
pushed a button. “Both are now armed. You break contact with either the chair
or table it triggers the capacitors. So behave.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Opening the door the guard left. Leslie heard a
snatch of conversation. In walked a well-dressed man carrying a slim attaché.
He took a seat across the table and placed the briefcase in front of him. He
then looked up as if noticing Leslie for the first time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I am a representative of Marcus Tonald.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie looked at him blankly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“The CEO of John Deere North America.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Again nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He is very interested in you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Does he want a date?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No, he wants to make you an offer.” The well-dressed
gentleman opened the briefcase and removed a slim data plate. He turned and placed
it in front of Leslie and waited.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie looked at him. The gentleman looked back.
Leslie looked at him. The gentleman looked back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hey, sweetheart, if I pick my hands up from the
table I will get the shit shocked out of me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh, sorry.” He reached across and turned it back in
front of him. He activated it and read it for Leslie’s benefit. “All charges
will be dropped and all penalties waived if you agree to enter the employ of
John Deere for no less than five years, starting at the point of agreement,
which will be transmitted via web with biometric conformation.” He smiled.
“That of course, is a brief summary.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Do I look like I make riding tractors for fuck
sake?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The well-dressed man smiled. “I don’t think Mr.
Tonald had lawn care in mind.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Leslie rolled his tiny red eyes. “Then what does he
fucking want?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He wants you to enter his stable as an augmented
combatant.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What the fuck does that mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The well-dressed removed a invisible piece of lint
from his lapel then leaned forward. “He wants you to have some work done so you
can smash the shit out of someone.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A large smile split Leslie’s face revealing shot
glass sized teeth that had not been kept up to the best of dental standards.
“Where do I sign?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
***<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach was the last man in the group following
slowly. They made little sound as they moved through the sparse undergrowth to
the observation point. The five of them dropped to the ground and moved up on
their bellies until the buildings were visible at the bottom of the small
valley. Master Chief pulled a pair of combat glasses from his thigh pocket and
focused in on the compound building in question.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That’s it huh? The one with the green metal roof?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Danny nodded. “That’s the one, Master Chief.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Eddie, hand me up the Targeter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shouldering off his pack Eddie rummaged through it
and handed the laser forward to the Master Chief. Taking the flashlight-sized
tube he hit the power stud, bringing it online then aimed it down at the
compound building of interest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Lou, bring up your slave screen and tell me if
you’re getting a good read on this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Nodding Lou pulled out his screen and unrolled it in
front of him. He then took a small lead and plugged it into a module. The
screen snapped to life, it mirrored what the Chief was seeing through the
viewfinder of the targeting laser. Lou adjusted some of the tuners on the
module, bringing the screen into sharper focus.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m getting a good read Chief, with some breakup
along the edges.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What do you get for distance to target?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m getting twelve five five to target.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Twelve five five to target. Any interference from
the jamming?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lou broadened out the gain to cover an increased
area. A little fuzzy on a larger gain, but the laser is burning right through.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Master Chief grinned. “That’s a roger. Bring up the
bird, see what you got for a read?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lou unfolded a small keyboard on the module and typed
in the command. The readout on the screen changed abruptly to an overhead
satellite view. In it the compound was a fuzzy blur, unlike the surrounding
area which was crystal clear. The Master Chief moved over to peer at
the screen. “Yeah, they got that jammed pretty good. We’re lucky the laser
burns through. Bring up our FOF tags.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lou typed again, five tiny blinking indicators pulsed
on the left side of the screen. They represented the friend or foe indicators
of the team. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s that?” The Chief pointed at a dull blur that
pulsed under the jamming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Lou fiddled with the pickups. “I can’t clear it. I’ll
run a diagnostic.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It could be the FOF from the snatch
team,” Shadrach said looking at the screen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Chief shook his head. “I doubt it. They went off
line two hours before scheduled grab. Lost telemetry and everything, not
looking good.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Edward pulled off his boonie hat and ran his hand
through his hair. “They could have pulled out the telemetry pickups.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I don’t think so. Why bother? To pull them out
involves major surgery. Why go through the trouble and not pull out the FOFS?
I’m afraid the snatch team is history.” Pulling back his sleeve the Chief looked
at his chronometer. “And so will <i>they</i> be in fifty two minutes. Everyone
move into position. Shadrach, you patrol the perimeter. Everyone stay frosty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Belly-crawling back from the edge Shadrach made his
way from the lip of the canyon to slightly higher ground that gave him both a
view of the target and his team. He brought up the tech screen woven into the
forearm of his uniform. The four FOF stood out in stark relief on the simple
screen; his FOF was indicated about twenty meters behind. The resolution on the
fabric screens was notoriously primitive. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach moved further up their right flank and took
a position under some thick growth, in solid cover and with a good lane of fire
to cover his team. He relaxed for a moment, took an energy bar from his breast
pocket and began to chew it into submission. It was gritty and tasted faintly
of almonds. It held everything he would need short of hydration for twelve
hours. He was on the jittery edge of hyperawareness. The mission would go for
good or ill in the next hour. Shadrach’s fervent and only hope was that when it
came down to it he would not fuck up his end.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They came fast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The team had no coms, only passive systems with the
exception of the targeting laser. Command figured it was the transmissions that
had alerted the Secularists with the first team. No reason had been given till
Master Chief had them on site. Shadrach had thought it strange at the time he
was being outfitted, but was assured he would find out when it was time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He had just finishing walking the perimeter. It was
five minutes till they would paint the target when Eddie caught something on
his screen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief, I got something weird here. I got eight FOF
breaking out of the jamming and headed toward us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The Master Chief studied the screen. “Yeah, the
signal’s getting stronger the farther they move from the compound. Anybody
eyeball anything?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
All of them scanned the area with their combat scopes
and came up empty.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I got them at a thousand meters Chief,” Eddie said,
his voice cracking with tension. “They got to be within sight real soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Using the scope on his rifle, Shadrach saw them
first, breaking cover at the bottom of the hill, around five hundred meters .
Shadrach counted eight figures dressed in some sort of shiny black material
moving fast. Too fast, and there was something wrong with their faces,
something Shadrach could not make out at this distance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Chief, I got them moving up at seven o’clock, and
closing. You see it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I got em. Everybody weapons hot! We’ll peg em coming
up then move back to the pick up point. This fucker’s blown and we’re out of
here by the numbers. Shadrach, drop back to the rally point and pick off any
that get past us.” Shadrach looked at him dumbly. “Move!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Shadrach ran back to the rally point giving him a
good view of the team and the approach up the hill. The eight came into a view
a lot sooner than they should have. Their faces were becoming clearer. They
appeared to have no lips. Through his scope Shadrach could make out mouths,
huge with teeth. It made no sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The team opened up at fifty meters. The caseless ammo
let go in a piercing scree. From where he stood Shadrach could see the hits
sparking off the shiny material on their chests, flipping them over on their
backs. They bounced right back up and kept coming. The whole team was on full
auto. Shadrach was frozen, his rifle hanging in his hands. The first one they
reached was Danny. He was switching out clips fumbling in haste. The attacker
reached toward Danny, a large fat blue spark leaped from its outstretched hand
knocking him flat as if pole-axed. Two of them jumped on him and began to tear
at his neck and face with their teeth. All eight were now in the midst of the
team. Muzzle flashes captured the manic tableau in a jittering of flashes.
Every one that was hit popped right back up like vicious Jack-in-the-Boxes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Head shots! They got armor! Head shots!” the Master
Chief roared, pulling his sidearm and blasting one of the attackers full in the
face. It’s head exploded like an overripe melon. One stepped over Eddie and
reached for the Chief. The discharge knocked him over, twitching, where two
attackers’ faces dripping gore tore into him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This broke Shadrach from his inactive state. He
whipped his weapon to his shoulder sighting in and discharging his weapon in
quick succession. They dropped one by one, not looking up from their feeding.
Shadrach walked among the carnage. The team was dead to a man. Torn open and
fed upon. Shadrach kicked one of the attackers over. Its teeth were filed to
points; the mouth was lipless, just gums and teeth. It seemed to be wearing
some sort of ceramic plate armor. Bending closer, Shadrach recognized the thing
at his feet. It was Taylor—a new medic attached to one of the failed snatch
teams . Checking his tech screen; Shadrach saw that the ordnance would remain
overhead for ten minutes total. According to his readout he had twenty five
seconds. He walked over to where the Chief had dropped the targeting laser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picking it up and he aimed it at the green
roof of the target building.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feeling the
shock wave at his back he dropped the laser and made his way to the pickup
point.<o:p></o:p></div>
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span></b>
<br />
<div class="SmashwordsCenterbold" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong>Chapter 8<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Kyushu rises unapologetically out of the East China
Sea. It hides none of its volcanic origin, proudly displaying its young vibrant
landscape to the crystal blue skies. It is the Westernmost island of the
Japanese homeland and played a pivotal role in the country’s history. It was
here that Koreans first invaded in 300 B.C., bringing rice paddy cultivation
along with bronze and metal working. They moved eastward through the remaining
islands, pushing the native Jomon before them until only few ancestors, called
the Ainu remain today. Kyushu also witnessed a brief flash of immortality
sixteen hundred years later when a small man made sun burned brightly over
Nagasaki, casting shadows still long in Japan’s racial memory.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Kyushu was Japan’s power and protein supplier. The
island was ringed with a connected power grid composed of seventy three
interlocked stacked bead reactors. These reactors were a breakthrough in power
production. Operating at over ninety four percent efficiency they functioned as
one huge reactor. The stacked bead design made them virtually earthquake proof
and once online were almost self-sustaining. This system provided for the power
needs of the entire population of Japan. Over two hundred million souls worked,
lived and thrived under the brightly lit climate-controlled normalcy that this
power generator provided.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
One of the byproducts of this power generation was
huge amounts of heated waste water that flooded in the coastal waters
surrounding Kyushu. The ambient temperature was eight degrees Celsius higher
than normal ocean temperature. This made the environment deadly to most of the
native fish and fauna. Fortunately, engineered strands of tuna and other
valuable food fish thrived. Fish, as well as kelp and seaweed farms stretched
for kilometers along the coasts, feeding the ravenous protein needs of the
burgeoning population.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Nevada-tan lay tangled in sweat soaked sheets on her
small futon. She was wishing for things that she knew she could never have. Standing
she walked naked across the tatami mat, looking out her room’s only window at
the darkened landscape. The moon had risen behind Mt. Eboshi, sending a silver
sliver of light down toward the compound where she now resided. A soft cool
breeze slipped through her window, raising goose bumps on her pale skin. She
moved back to the futon, grabbed the sheet, wrapped it around her, and returned
to the window. She had spent most of her twenty two years in this room. Appearing
no more than thirteen or fourteen, thin and wan with huge dark eyes, she seemed
to live in the shadows. Only her waist-long black hair seemed alive. It was a
thick voluptuous cable of ebony that shifted and shuddered in the dim light as
if made of liquid.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The compound was the center of the Autistic
Amelioration Project. The Project produced high functioning female autistics
using zygote manipulation. The effort had originally produced only males. But
the males, while prodigious math adepts, had the unfortunate tendency to become
enamored of a button or crease in their pants and be absorbed for years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The answer proved simple in the extreme. Female
Autistics. Nevada-tan was the crown jewel of the program. There had been six
other adepts with varying levels of abilities. But Nevada-tan’s math/reasoning
portion of her brain, the intraparietal sulchs, was three times normal mass.
Yet she functioned as a normal twenty two year old woman.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gazing out her
window Nevada-tan was aware that if she tried to leave she would not get a
meter before she would be gently but firmly ushered back to her room. Moving
back to her futon she lay down and willed herself to sleep. Moments later, her
breathing became regular as she slipped into REM .<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A chime woke
her. Sitting up she knuckled the sleep from her eyes, blinking in the soft
morning light. Rising she padded softly to the bathing area of her small room. Toeing
a switch, a portion of the tatami slid back, exposing a shower area and a small
deep tub filled with water warmed to a preset temperature. She showered quickly
and then slid slowly into the water which came up to her chin. Sighing she let
the warmth flood into her being.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Leaving the
tub much too soon, pulling a large raw cloth towel and rubbing herself so
vigorously her skin turned red in protest. She moved to a seascape print on the
wall touching lightly the mountain’s white-capped summit; in response, the wall
slid noiselessly back, exposing a toilet/sink/wardrobe/dressing area. She
completed her morning’s ablutions quickly. Lingering over what to wear, she
chose from her somewhat limited selection a dove gray top and loose pants. Pulling
a brush through her thick black hair looking at herself in the mirror. As
always, she saw a hundred things wrong. Sticking out her tongue at the
reflection she went to her doorway and pressed the exit tab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The door
opened smoothly into a small hallway. Outside the door stood two guards in jade
colored body armor complete with sidearms and assault rifles. They would follow
at her heels at all times within the compound. It had been this way for so long
she did not even glance at them as she made her way to the morning room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The morning
room is where she had breakfasted all her life. Her life was a seamless stream
of unchanging routine which both gave comfort and infuriated her. As she
entered the bright window-walled room, the two guards posted at the doorway.
Nevada-tan bowed to her two teachers who nodded in return. She moved to the low
table where both were waiting as she seated herself across from them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Morning
Nevada-tan,” said Mr. Takomi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good
Morning, Nevada-tan,” said Miss Muroki.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good
Morning, Teachers,” responded Nevada-tan respectfully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Both Takomi
and Muroki were part of the routine that infuriated her. They were as constant
as the sunrise in Nevada-tan’s life. They were called “Teachers” but in reality
were more handlers. They supervised all parts of Nevada-tan’s life from her
diet to whom she could socialize with down to her clothing. The most important
part was their supervision of her coupling. Once a day she entered into the
flow to balance and monitor the chain of reactors that encircled Kyushu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You had a
slip yesterday, Natan,” Takomi frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
hated the nickname Natan but told no one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It was for a
moment, the output was unaffected.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is
unacceptable Natan. What you do is very important. Lapses of attention cannot
be tolerated,” Muroki scowled for added effect. “Especially for something
trivial.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
reddened to her toes. She could feel her face blaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I am sorry.
It will not happen again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good, now
eat. Here comes our breakfast.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She watched
the small wrinkled woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun set the tray
down before them. There were numerous small dishes filled with fresh fruit and
three steaming bowls of Miso. Nevada-tan picked up a bowl enjoying the warmth
in her hands; she blew across the top, momentarily pushing aside the steam
which reappeared as soon as she stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan, you
must be at your best today. The final modeling of the A.I. is soon to be
completed. Another few weeks it will be done, and you will have accomplished
something very important for Japan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
nodded. She watched closely as Mr. Takomi finished his little speech. She
marveled at how ugly he was. A small thin-shouldered man, he had a huge head
with comically large features. His ears and nose were oversized, his head was
capped with a small patch of poorly dyed black hair. His eyes were tiny and
mean. He took joy in berating Nevada-tan, who secretly referred to him as “The
Rat.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Rat
turned to his breakfast noisily downing his Miso in a slurp. This caused Miss
Muroki to grimace. As exaggerated as Takomi’s features were, hers were just
visible. She was tiny and delicate. Her dark hair was cut to hug her small head.
Her nose and mouth were mere suggestions. Only her large dark eyes stood out,
watchful and cautious. She followed whatever path Takomi stomped down.
Nevada-tan secretly referred to her as “The Doll.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes, Natan,
it is important to do your best and concentrate.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
watched The Doll pick a tiny sliver of melon and slide it between her non-
existent lips. She watched as she chewed the melon until it could be no more
than a liquid and swallow it, causing her tiny esophagus to pulse in her reed-like
neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
sipped the Miso and thought about the day’s coupling. She enjoyed being in the
flow. There was a freedom in the flow that was missing in her life. Her initial
coupling was always painful but once the filaments made the C1 meld, she was
free. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They finished
their breakfast in silence. The Rat checked his watch and announced it was
time. The three moved to the pod which whisked them to the Monitoring Center
located ten kilometers away beneath Sasebo Bay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Monitoring Center was surprisingly sparse. There were three pneumo-couches, one
prime and two passive for monitoring. Nevada-tan quickly moved to hers, hopping
in and relaxing as the couch molded around her. She heard The Rat and The Doll
fussing around getting into theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“O.K. Natan,
when you are ready,” said The Rat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
took a deep breath and keyed the switch. She felt the momentary sting as the
filaments burrowed in. The awareness came to her abruptly. The power loop
connecting all the reactors became part of her, her sense of self. She could
feel that the flow was uneven. The load was being drawn more from the eastern
portion of the Island. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Feeling the
power as a loop, she evened it out, causing it to be drawn more from portions
of the grid that could provide it. The load balanced and the output rose to
ninety eight percent efficiency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan,
please repeat the sequence so the A.I. can mirror.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
held down a flash of irritability. She felt the A.I. come online and could feel
it as if stood at her shoulder. The A.I. had been modeling for two years now
but it could not quite match the <i>feel</i>. It could read and calculate the
loads millions of times faster than Nevada-tan could. But the sensation when
the balance was reached was something that, until now, seemed to be something
completely human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She brought
up the same scenario she had just been given with the uneven draw from the
eastern portion of the Island. The A.I. performed flawlessly—until the moment
when the balance was to be made. Then it locked, unable to initiate. Nevada-tan
felt a momentary stab of pride and superiority at the failure. She rechecked
the power efficiency, saw that it was still at the ninety eight percentile and
began the decoupling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Coming up was
always less traumatic than going in. The room’s sights and smells always
flooded in joyfully as the filaments withdrew. Nevada-tan sat blinking,
enjoying the return of her sensorial impulses as The Doll and The Rat
decoupled. She could see, as The Rat emerged, that he was not happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan, what
happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did the machine
intelligence fail again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan shrugged
her dainty shoulders. “It cannot make the leap.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What is this
nonsense you speak about? There is no leap. It is a simple reasoning algorithm.
Why does the machine freeze?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She felt an
unusual but not unwelcome burst of defiance. “What do you know of this? You are
a mere observer, a spectator. You cannot understand what happens, what I feel.
It happens in here!” She struck her forehead with the flat of her palm.
“Only I can know. Do not question what you do not understand.” Nevada-tan was
surprised to find herself standing with her fists balled at her side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan,
please return to your room, now!” The Doll said pointedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
spun on her heals and left the Monitoring Center with her security detail in
tow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sitting in
the capsule speeding back to the center she was a little amazed at what had
just transpired. It was the first time in her life that she had ever said a
word other then yes sir, or yes ma’am to either The Rat or The Doll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gratefully she entered her room, sealing the
door and her security detail behind her. She collapsed on her futon in a
nerveless heap. She was not used to such emotional exercise. Laying there it
occurred to her that today was her scheduled trip to the Ginza. It had totally
slipped her mind. Once a month they emptied the Ginza in Saesabo and allowed
her to browse the shops. She doubted if that was still on her itinerary after
her little outburst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Her door slid
open suddenly, revealing The Doll wearing a disapproving look on her face. She
removed her sandals, aligning them alongside Nevada-tan’s and stepped into her
room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Today was a
day of firsts for Nevada-tan. She had never seen either her or The Rat at her
room. She sat up quickly, sweeping her hair from her face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan, that
was an uncalled for display today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
dropped her head. “I am sorry, Teacher. It was not meant out of disrespect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I should
hope not. We are here to help you in your very important job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know and
for this I am sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I should
hope so. I trust this will not happen again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No Ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well then,
get ready. The Center goes to great expense to clear the Ginza for you. We
cannot cancel with so little notice. We will be going despite your behavior. So
get ready.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank you,
Teacher.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Ginza in
Saesabo was always a little spooky to Nevada-tan. She knew that Japan now held
over two hundred forty million industrial souls. She also knew that almost all
of the surface cities had been replaced by huge underground beehives called
warrens. Only Tokyo, parts of Hiroshima and Nagasaki remained above ground,
plus a few tourist spots like Saesabo’s Ginza. All available real estate had
been turned over to agriculture. Japan for the most part resembled Eden.
Millions of hectares filled with nothing but green growing things tended by
clever robots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
realized there were Japanese who went years at a time without seeing natural
sunlight. Still the Ginza would be filled to bursting at any time, day or
night, with eager students and families; except when she was here. It would not
do for her to have contact with anyone not approved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you have
anywhere in mind?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Doll
always accompanied her on her outings along with an increased security
presence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Takoyaki,”
Nevada-tan beamed. She loved the octopus balls made with red shrimp and ginger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Very well,”
The Doll grimaced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Takoyaki
stand was manned by an employee from the center—as were all the shops.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Two,
please.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The man
handed over two orders of the crispy bourbon-colored balls. Nevada-tan and The
Doll set at a small café table and broke open two packages of chopsticks.
Nevada-tan greedily grasped a ball between the two wooden sticks, dipped it in
the mayonnaise and popped it into her mouth. The Doll just poked hesitantly at
hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What is
wrong, Teacher?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are
delicious.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t
know, my stomach is bothering me today.” The Doll lifted one up slowly and took
a tiny bite. She immediately dropped her chopsticks, picked up a napkin, put it
to her lips and ran for the bathroom. The security contingent looked on
curiously, for this was definitely out of character. Nevada-tan grabbed another
ball and chewed it. She was enjoying her moment without supervision when she
noticed The Doll’s purse. Sighing, she retrieved it and followed The Doll into
the bathroom. She heard retching in one of the stalls. She stood nervously
outside the closed door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Excuse me,
Teacher.” She leaned down and handed the purse under the stall’s door. It was
grabbed quickly and the retching continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevada-tan
went to the sink to wash her hands, on the sink was a data tab. Nevada-tan
froze. It was candy apple red and chipped at the edges. Tabs had gone out of
use years ago. All transfers of information and credit had gone over to wet
chips that were implanted at the wrist. Nevada-tan had no chip; all transfers,
credit or otherwise, were done for her. She grabbed the tab guiltily and jammed
it deep into her pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Natan,” said
The Doll, who emerged from the stall looking pale. “I think we will end early
today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,
Teacher,” Nevada-tan replied, feeling the tab heavy in her pocket. She followed
The Doll out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James woke to
a pounding on the door that matched the one in his head. He rose stiffly from
his bunk, tripped over two cats and fell hard to the floor. He lay face first
in his pants from the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two
tabbies watched with undisguised curiosity as he flipped over to his back
sticking his two skinny pale legs into the worn khakis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The pounding
continued unabated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m coming,
hold your horses!” James yelled, scrambling to his feet. He pawed at the handle
a few times before getting it open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“James!” It
was Father Gilbert in all his overpowering good humor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James blinked
in the bright sunlight, wracking his brain as to why the Father was standing
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“James, have
you forgotten?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James had to
admit he had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Today we
visit the outlyers. Get dressed and meet me at the van.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">With this he
was gone. James stared into the space where the Father had been. His brain was
slowly coming online. Then, in the muddled morass that served as his mind, it
surfaced. He had promised to help the Father bring supplies—both actual and
spiritual—to some of his more rustic parishioners. He had been in his cups at
the time. Drinking seemed to occupy more and more of James’ time. This did not
particularly alarm him, although he found it a little unnerving how easily he
had slipped into this particular lifestyle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Pulling on a
worn thermal undershirt, he ran a washcloth across his face and headed out to
locate the Father. He found him at the back of the rectory shoving the last few
boxes into an ancient Volkswagen microbus. The bus was in all manner of
disrepair. It had been a donation and James was pretty sure if the Father had
not been so well known that the local P.D. would have pulled it off the road
long ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, James
are you ready?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I guess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert smiled broadly “No guessing Son. We are doing God’s work. It is as sure
as the morning’s sunrise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I guess”
James repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert just smiled a little wider and in a mash of protesting gears was off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They spent
most of their day moving through Stanley Park. A host of squatters and
homesteaders had set up house in the wooded areas. James was surpris</span>ed
at the sophistication <span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>several of the compounds. There were some that
were completely self-sustaining, existing off the grid. Others were simple log
huts and tents. Father Gilbert moved freely through them all, greeting everyone
by name, handing out foodstuffs, warm clothing, and toys for the children (and
Bible chips, when asked).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They stopped
at the Sunbird camp that was within view of Siwash rock. The residents there
were Neo-Pagans who wore handwoven tunics and spoke a variation of Gaelic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“What is
this?” James asked pushing around some raw-looking tuna in an acidic smelling
broth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s <i>Kinilaw</i>.
It’s made with raw tuna, coconut wine, vinegar, hot chilies, ginger and onions.
Try it, it is delicious.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James
shrugged and took a bite. It was good. The texture was a little weird, but the
freshness of the tuna came through in spades.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Very tasty,”
James smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Like I
said.” Father Gilbert was watching two of the children playing with a straw
doll, both of their faces were streaked with a blue pigment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So, Pagans
huh? Why here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s the
rock.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Rocks?”
James asked puzzled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not rocks.
Rock. That one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James
followed Father Gilbert’s gaze. “It’s a big rock standing in the water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yep, Siwash
rock. It’s holy to them. Like Stonehenge.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So, let me
get this straight,” James said as he fished the last piece of tuna off his
plate. “A bunch of Neo-Pagans worshiping a new Stonehenge while chowing down on
Filipino fare?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert grinned. “That about sums it up I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James shook
his head, standing up to clean his plate and add it to the stack in a makeshift
sink. He then sat down on some moss and leaned back against a convenient rock.
He undid a couple of his shirt buttons and closed his eyes, enjoying the sun on
his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Not a bad
life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Every day
above ground is a good day, Father.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s a
little Agnostic for my tastes but I can share in the basic flavor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James turned
and squinted at the Father. “Mind if I ask you a question Father?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No; by all
means.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I haven’t
seen a lot of preaching. There has been very little God Squad, ya know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father Gilbert
opened his shirt and ran a hand up the back of his neck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, I have
never been much of a pulpit pounder. I always felt it was something people come
to on their own or don’t come at all. When I was in seminary I was given
something to read that was just considered scandalous. It was a novel called <i>Stranger
in a Strange Land</i>. You ever hear of it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James shook
his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, it was
about a failed mission to Mars that left only one survivor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mars?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who’s
telling this story?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“As I was
saying, there was one survivor, a child of two of the astronauts.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“A child?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Product of a
mixed crew.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Obviously.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“May I
continue?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Please.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“As I was
saying, there was a survivor who returned to Earth and became a religious
leader who died voluntarily in a Christ-like fashion.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh, now I
get it. <i>Stranger in a Strange Land</i>. Old Testament isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That is
correct, but not really my point. One of the basic tenets of the book was “Thou
art God.” At the time I thought that was horribly egotistic and
self-worshipping. But the older I got the more sense it made.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How so?’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert closed his eyes and smiled. He was silent for a moment then answered.
“It sort of removes the entire bell ringing and rote mindless ritual. If we all
are God then we all have the capacity to be holy. There is something
fundamentally hopeful about that. It makes all this worthwhile somehow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Father,
there is hope for you yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“There is
hope for us all, James. That is sort of the point.” He stood, brushing his
pants. “Come Jimmy, I’ve saved the most interesting for last.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They drove
for about fifteen minutes until they arrived at an opening in a small copse of
trees. Father Gilbert grabbed a rucksack and handed James a basket filled with
canned goods. Carefully, they made their way down a well-worn path that opened
up to a small lake with an island in the center. On the island was what at
first glance appeared to be a small white sailboat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that a
boat?” James asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, I
can’t vouch for its seaworthiness, but it does indeed look like a boat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who did you
say lives here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“A gentleman
by the name of Jack D’Baptiste.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">At the shore
edge James could see a series of stones just submerged that led to the island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A few damp moments
later both made landfall . On closer inspection James could see that the boat
was made from hundreds of small pieces of driftwood as well as others
pieces of debris, cunningly fit together so tightly as to seem to be
unbroken planks forming the boat’s hull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert dropped his pack and called loudly. “Jack! Jack! It’s Father Gilbert
with provisions. Ahoy!” Father Gilbert winked at James. “He enjoys the nautical
theme so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A shadow
passed across James’ face that caused him to look up. The sun was blocked out
by something hurtling towards him. A second later James was gasping in the cold
lake water. Above him was a crazed apparition grasping him by his shirtfront.
He was shirtless, dressed in a pair of clammers with a necklace of animal bones
around his neck. His filthy hair hung in knots around his head. Ice blue eyes
peered down at James as he was pulled nose to nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s you.
It’s you. I knew you would come.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James could
see his mouth was innocent of teeth. And an odor wafted out that left little
doubt where the animal bones came from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah, Father?”
James<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>asked softly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I bless you
in the name of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost.” And with this Jack plunged
James into the icy water. James tried to pull the hands from his clothing as he
fought to surface. They felt like iron wrapped in rawhide. An absurd thought
surfaced in his mind as he struggled. <i>If Father’s theory, “Thou art God” was
universal, this man appeared to be the exception to the rule.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surfacing James pulled in huge snuffles of
sweet air. Father Gilbert had mounted Jack piggyback style, attempting to
dissuade him from his aquatic agenda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack looked
at James and smiled without guile. “I have baptized you. You have returned to
spread The Word and save us all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James wiped
the water from his face. “If you say so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack let go
of James and began to dance in circles splashing and singing the father
gripping tightly to his back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“So as it is
written, so shall it be. So as it is written, so shall it be.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Father
Gilbert dismounted sheepishly and helped James to his feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sorry about
that. That was definitely out of character.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James wrung
out his shirttail. “I should hope so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack stood
grinning toothlessly at both of them. Some of the maniacal gleam had gone out
of his eyes. Father Gilbert shrugged and introduced them to each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“James, this
is Jack. Jack, this is James.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hiya doing,”
James offered<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know who
you are. You have returned,” Jack intoned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“ O.K.” James
offered carefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack dropped
to his knees in front of James and bowed his head. “Bless me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James looked
at Father Gilbert who grinned and shrugged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bless you,”
James said sheepishly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack sprang
to his feet grabbing both the men by their arms. “Come, come, we will have tea
to celebrate your return.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">James and
Father Gilbert stumbled after him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The interior
of the makeshift sailing ship was surprisingly neat. James and Father Gilbert
sat on a bench at a drop-down table. Jack fiddled over a small Jotul stove in
which he brewed tea. The cabin also contained a small bunk bed and tiny galley.
James was drying himself with a rough worn towel Jack had handed him off a
hook. Light from a small lantern cast everything in warm sepia tones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">**<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Here, here,
careful, it’s hot.” Jack handed them two earthen mugs brimming with steaming
tea. Pulling a Christmas tin from under the table, he handed each of them a
blueberry scone. James eyed it warily then bit it. It was delicious; the
surprise must have shown on his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s from
the Druids. I don’t bake much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know Jack,
and it is very good,” Father Gilbert said taking a bite himself. “I don’t
suppose you could explain what that little excitement was about?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“He has
returned.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who?”
Father Gilbert asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Him,” Jack
pointed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Me?” James
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“As it said
in the Bible.” Jack said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Bible?”
Father Gilbert asked, incredulous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Smashwordsnormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good night,
nurse,” James whispered as he sipped his tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: AR-SA;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-16855315435910386562013-12-04T09:18:00.003-08:002013-12-04T09:18:57.999-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/12/03/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase.html" rel="bookmark">Blues Brothers mall car-chase recreated in Lego</a> </h1>
<div class="byline">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/cory_doctorow_1" rel="author" title="Posts by Cory Doctorow">Cory Doctorow</a> at 9:44 pm Tue, Dec 3, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase-recreated-in-lego/15581">5</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase-recreated-in-lego/15581"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-272024"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-272024"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Blues Brothers mall car-chase recreated in Lego - http://boingboing.net/2013/12/03/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/12/03/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Blues+Brothers+mall+car-chase+recreated+in%26nbsp%3BLego: http://boingboing.net/2013/12/03/blues-brothers-mall-car-chase.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
<!--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ_uqlNgSU8--><div class="video-container-yt" embedcode="Array" id="video-529f62e3c1618" style="background-image: url("http://img.youtube.com/vi/bJ_uqlNgSU8/hqdefault.jpg");">
<div class="video-snow">
</div>
<a href="javascript:void(0);"><img class="playbutton" src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/plugins/oembed-manager/images/playbutton.png" /></a><textarea class="video-frame-source" id="video-529f62e3c1618-raw"><iframe width="600" height="338" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bJ_uqlNgSU8?showinfo=0&autoplay=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></textarea></div>
Duncan, the good fellow at Brick Tease, has recreated the classic, brilliant, no-hold-barred car-chase-in-a-mall sequence from The Blues Brothers (a movie I watched once or twice <em>a day</em> in tenth grade) <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ_uqlNgSU8">with Lego</a>. Then, just to show you how closely he hewed to the original, he released a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-stcy2er7w">side-by-side comparison</a>. And if that wasn't enough, he produced a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDseGSWIWbk">12-minute documentary</a> showing how he did it</div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-27713158742523960912013-12-04T09:18:00.001-08:002013-12-04T09:18:15.628-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/12/04/walking-dead-compendium-19-ma.html" rel="bookmark">Walking Dead compendium 19: March to War</a> </h1>
<div class="byline">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/cory_doctorow_1" rel="author" title="Posts by Cory Doctorow">Cory Doctorow</a> at 6:19 am Wed, Dec 4, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/walking-dead-compendium-19-march-to-war/15600">1</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/walking-dead-compendium-19-march-to-war/15600"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-272138"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-272138"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Walking Dead compendium 19: March to War - http://boingboing.net/2013/12/04/walking-dead-compendium-19-ma.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/12/04/walking-dead-compendium-19-ma.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Walking+Dead+compendium+19%3A+March+to%26nbsp%3BWar: http://boingboing.net/2013/12/04/walking-dead-compendium-19-ma.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
<img class="bordered" mobile="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/The-Walking-Dead-Vol19-March-to-War1-300x461.jpg" original="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/The-Walking-Dead-Vol19-March-to-War1.jpg" src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/The-Walking-Dead-Vol19-March-to-War1.jpg" /><br />After an uncommonly long hiatus, there's a new Walking Dead graphic novel: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1607068184/downandoutint-20">Walking Dead 19: March to War</a>. It's been eight months since <a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/06/10/walking-dead-18-a-magnificent.html">volume 18</a> and its introduction of Negan, a psychopathic villain who makes the Governor look like a pussycat by comparison.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-84220314024626631442013-11-29T05:45:00.001-08:002013-11-29T05:45:32.507-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/caricatures-of-breaking-bad-characters-by-anthony-geoffroy/" rel="bookmark" title="Caricatures of Breaking Bad Characters by Anthony Geoffroy">Caricatures of Breaking Bad Characters by Anthony Geoffroy</a></h2>
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by <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/hrlori/" rel="author" title="Lori Dorn">Lori Dorn</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-28T20:10:00+00:00">November 28, 2013</span> </div>
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<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Breaking-Bad-Guys" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353757" height="471" src="http://i1.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Breaking-Bad-Guys.jpg?resize=640%2C471" width="640" /></a><br />
French artist <a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/">Anthony Geoffroy</a> has put his <a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/">signature brilliant caricatural spin</a> on the <a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys">characters</a> of the now-concluded colossal television series <em><a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/breaking-bad">Breaking Bad</a></em>. <br />
<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Walter & Jesse" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353748" height="479" src="http://i2.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Walter-Jesse.jpg?resize=640%2C479" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Mike" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353755" height="640" src="http://i1.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Mike.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Saul Goodman" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353756" height="640" src="http://i0.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Saul-Goodman.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><br /></a><a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="ASAC Schrader" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353750" height="640" src="http://i2.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/ASAC-Schrader.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Gus Fring" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353751" height="640" src="http://i1.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Gus-Fring.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Heisenberg" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353753" height="640" src="http://i1.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Heisenberg.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Jesse" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353754" height="640" src="http://i0.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Jesse.jpg?resize=320%2C640" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.anthonygeoffroy.com/caricature/en/#/Breaking-Bad-Guys"><img alt="Anthony Geoffory BB Process" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-353758" height="369" src="http://i1.wp.com/laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Anthony-Geoffory-BB-Process.png?resize=640%2C369" width="640" /></a><br />
illustrations </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-65454701427548085822013-11-28T07:27:00.001-08:002013-11-28T07:27:16.084-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<big><strong>The Final Season Of "Breaking Bad"</strong></big><br />
<img alt="BREAKING BAD" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/04bb522d0b558f3b8bf40d235971fa38/tumblr_mtyj7u8saW1rqp93go2_r1_500.gif" width="570" /><br />
An obvious gift to mankind, Vince Gilligan's seminal series closed its final chapter with an eight-episode arc that had our adrenaline racing and our tear ducts lingering on the brink of eruption. Where "Breaking Bad" ranks among the greatest drama series of all time will be debated for years to come, but thanks to masterful writing and stellar performances from Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul, the meth drama ended on a high note in every way we hoped. (See what we did there?) Walter White's blend of villainy and deeply entrenched humanity came to light in layers upon layers, from his final moments with Skyler and Jesse to his desert showdown with Hank to his devious reunion with Gretchen and Elliot. Not only did "Breaking Bad" solidify itself as the finest character study in television, but it helped to reimagine what it means to craft novelistic programming that has us obsessing over its every step. To Vince Gilligan and the entire "Breaking Bad" team, we are indebted for a series that rattled our minds, stirred our hearts and crafted the best chemistry we've seen on TV in, well, perhaps forever</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-75821215235046569632013-11-27T09:40:00.003-08:002013-11-27T09:40:54.902-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/11/26/dumbest-cops-in-america-video.html" rel="bookmark">Dumbest cops in America video themselves laughing at and tasing mentally-ill, handcuffed man</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/rob_beschizza" rel="author" title="Posts by Rob Beschizza">Rob Beschizza</a> at 12:55 pm Tue, Nov 26, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/dumbest-cops-in-america-video-themselves-laughing-at-and-tasing-mentally-ill-handcuffed-man/15087">33</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/dumbest-cops-in-america-video-themselves-laughing-at-and-tasing-mentally-ill-handcuffed-man/15087"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-270645"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-270645"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Dumbest cops in America video themselves laughing at and tasing mentally-ill, handcuffed man - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/26/dumbest-cops-in-america-video.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/26/dumbest-cops-in-america-video.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Dumbest+cops+in+America+video+themselves+laughing+at+and+tasing+mentally-ill%2C+handcuffed%26nbsp%3Bman: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/26/dumbest-cops-in-america-video.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
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Police and paramedics in Millvale, Pa., were recorded on video laughing as they repeatedly stunned a handcuffed and mentally-ill man as he pounded his head against the side of a desk. The video--predictably--ended up on YouTube, and the police officers involved became targets of an FBI investigation and a federal lawsuit</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-58717359510363624072013-11-27T09:40:00.001-08:002013-11-27T09:40:02.884-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/when-mushrooms-go-to-war.html" rel="bookmark">When mushrooms go to war</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/maggie_koerth-baker" rel="author" title="Posts by Maggie Koerth-Baker">Maggie Koerth-Baker</a> at 6:41 am Wed, Nov 27, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/when-mushrooms-go-to-war/15126">0</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/when-mushrooms-go-to-war/15126"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-270785"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-270785"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=When mushrooms go to war - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/when-mushrooms-go-to-war.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/when-mushrooms-go-to-war.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=When+mushrooms+go+to%26nbsp%3Bwar: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/27/when-mushrooms-go-to-war.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
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<a href="https://www.sciencenews.org/article/fungal-fight-club">Fungus can fight</a>. Using poisons and flesh-dissolving enzymes (think: mycological "meat" tenderizers), they can defend their turf from incursions by other fungi. Here, a sulfur tuft mushroom (top right) and <em>Phanerochaete velutina</em> (bottom left) hash it out</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-10480960259242882652013-11-21T05:10:00.001-08:002013-11-21T05:10:03.996-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/blade-runner-animated-as-1200.html" rel="bookmark">Blade Runner animated as 12,000 hand-painted watercolor paintings</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/blade-runner-animated-as-12-000-hand-painted-watercolor-paintings/14688"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-269375"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-269375" style="display: inline;"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Blade Runner animated as 12,000 hand-painted watercolor paintings - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/blade-runner-animated-as-1200.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/blade-runner-animated-as-1200.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Blade+Runner+animated+as+12%2C000+hand-painted+watercolor%26nbsp%3Bpaintings: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/blade-runner-animated-as-1200.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-65807518271555987522013-11-21T05:08:00.002-08:002013-11-21T05:08:12.626-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/the-rob-ford-jean-claude-van-damme-volvo-splits-parody-video-youve-been-waiting-for/14697">25</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/the-rob-ford-jean-claude-van-damme-volvo-splits-parody-video-youve-been-waiting-for/14697"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-269409"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-269409" style="display: inline;"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=The Rob Ford Jean-Claude Van Damme Volvo Splits Parody video you've been waiting for - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/the-rob-ford-jean-claude-van-d.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/the-rob-ford-jean-claude-van-d.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=The+Rob+Ford+Jean-Claude+Van+Damme+Volvo+Splits+Parody+video+you%27ve+been+waiting%26nbsp%3Bfor: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/20/the-rob-ford-jean-claude-van-d.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-43164768342015660132013-11-15T05:29:00.003-08:002013-11-15T05:29:37.653-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/soviet-particle-accelerator-co.html" rel="bookmark">Soviet particle accelerator control panel, 1968</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/cory_doctorow_1" rel="author" title="Posts by Cory Doctorow">Cory Doctorow</a> at 12:14 pm Thu, Nov 14, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/soviet-particle-accelerator-control-panel-1968/14281">18</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/soviet-particle-accelerator-control-panel-1968/14281"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-268237"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-268237"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Soviet particle accelerator control panel, 1968 - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/soviet-particle-accelerator-co.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/soviet-particle-accelerator-co.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Soviet+particle+accelerator+control+panel%2C%26nbsp%3B1968: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/soviet-particle-accelerator-co.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
<img class="bordered" mobile="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/rtyjeryjfgdfg1-300x397.jpg" original="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/rtyjeryjfgdfg1.jpg" src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/rtyjeryjfgdfg1.jpg" /><br />Back in 2009, Dark Roasted Blend rounded up a truly wonderful gallery of ancient, hulking computers, called <a href="http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2009/04/cutting-edge-of-retro-tech.html"> The Cutting Edge of Retro Tech </a>. Given that retro-tech only gets finer with age, it's fitting to link to it now, especially given this magnificent beast, identified as the 1968 Control Center of the JINR's (Joint Institute of Nuclear Research) synchrophasotron in Dubna, Russia. Hotcha, that is some sweet-ass control panel design</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-828032756390360822013-11-15T05:29:00.001-08:002013-11-15T05:29:16.878-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1 class="jknav">
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the.html" rel="bookmark">Jean-Claude Van Damme does the splits. Between reversing trucks.</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/rob_beschizza" rel="author" title="Posts by Rob Beschizza">Rob Beschizza</a> at 12:18 pm Thu, Nov 14, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the-splits-between-moving-trucks/14282">48</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the-splits-between-moving-trucks/14282"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-268424"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-268424"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Jean-Claude Van Damme does the splits. Between reversing trucks. - http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Jean-Claude+Van+Damme+does+the+splits.+Between+reversing%26nbsp%3Btrucks.: http://boingboing.net/2013/11/14/jean-claude-van-damme-does-the.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
<!--http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=M7FIvfx5J10--><div class="video-container-yt" embedcode="Array" id="video-52861f8b8a649" style="background-image: url("http://img.youtube.com/vi/M7FIvfx5J10/hqdefault.jpg");">
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It's a TV ad for Volvo trucks; a clever way to demonstrate the vehicles' precise computer-aided steering.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-5703012414070276282013-11-14T05:08:00.001-08:002013-11-14T05:08:43.075-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/inform-3d-display-can-form-moving-shapes-and-interact-with-physical-objects/" rel="bookmark" title="inFORM, 3D Display Can Form Moving Shapes and Interact with Physical Objects">inFORM, 3D Display Can Form Moving Shapes and Interact with Physical Objects</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/edwlynch/" rel="author" title="EDW Lynch">EDW Lynch</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-13T18:09:52+00:00">November 13, 2013</span> </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/79179138" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://tangible.media.mit.edu/project/inform/">inFORM</a> is a dynamic shape display that allows users to interact with digital information by rendering it in three dimensions. The display is equipped with a grid of “pins,” long square-topped rods, that can be rapidly moved up and down to form 3D shapes. A remote user’s hands can be rendered by the display, allowing the user to manipulate an physical object from a distance. The display can also be used to create 3D data visualizations and models. inFORM is a research project by the <a href="http://tangible.media.mit.edu/">Tangible Media Group</a> of the <a href="http://media.mit.edu/">MIT Media Lab</a>. We <a href="http://laughingsquid.com/a-table-that-mimics-3d-objects-presented-in-front-of-a-camera-in-real-time/">previously posted about the display</a> earlier in November.<br />
<a href="http://tangible.media.mit.edu/project/inform/"><img alt="inFORM Dynamic Shape Display" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-349367" height="854" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/inform-4sss.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://tangible.media.mit.edu/project/inform/"><img alt="inFORM Dynamic Shape Display" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-349368" height="338" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/inform-1.gif" width="600" /></a><br />
<a href="http://tangible.media.mit.edu/project/inform/"><img alt="inFORM Dynamic Shape Display" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-349369" height="338" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/inform-2.gif" width="600" /></a><br />
via <a href="http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/11/inform-an-interactive-dynamic-shape-display-that-physically-renders-3d-content/">Colossal</a><br />
still photo</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-47347266329639478032013-11-08T05:01:00.001-08:002013-11-08T05:01:35.917-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/homeless-u-s-army-veteran-gets-a-makeover-in-a-heartwarming-time-lapse-video/" rel="bookmark" title="Homeless U.S. Army Veteran Gets a Makeover in a Heartwarming Time-Lapse Video">Homeless U.S. Army Veteran Gets a Makeover in a Heartwarming Time-Lapse Video</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/kimber-streams/" rel="author" title="Kimber Streams">Kimber Streams</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-07T12:17:08+00:00">November 7, 2013</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/6a6VVncgHcY?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
Homeless <a href="http://www.army.mil/">United States Army</a> veteran Jim Wolf gets a makeover from <a href="http://www.degageministries.org/">Dégagé Ministries</a> and <a href="http://design1.com/">Design 1 Salon & Spa</a> in this heartwarming time-lapse video made </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-35237368178093777352013-11-08T04:56:00.003-08:002013-11-08T04:56:54.036-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/a-rock-paper-scissors-robot-that-wins-every-time/" rel="bookmark" title="A Rock-Paper-Scissors Robot That Wins Every Time">A Rock-Paper-Scissors Robot That Wins Every Time</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/kimber-streams/" rel="author" title="Kimber Streams">Kimber Streams</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-07T15:52:30+00:00">November 7, 2013</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ZVNnoOcohaU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
Researchers at the <a href="http://www.u-tokyo.ac.jp/en/">University of Tokyo</a> have created <a href="http://youtu.be/ZVNnoOcohaU">a new robot that plays Rock-paper-scissors and wins every time</a>. Of course, the robot’s cheating. It uses a high-speed camera to recognize the human’s play, and then chooses a counter and forms that shape almost instantaneously using a high-speed motor. While humans take about 60ms to form the shape of rock, paper, or scissors, version two of the robot can do it in just 20ms. Previously, we wrote about <a href="http://laughingsquid.com/unbeatable-rock-paper-scissors-robot/">the first version of the unbeatable Rock-paper-scissors robot</a>.<br />
via</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-71922002136589907362013-11-08T04:56:00.001-08:002013-11-08T04:56:15.755-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/beautiful-space-images-from-nasas-chandra-x-ray-observatory/" rel="bookmark" title="Beautiful Space Images From NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory">Beautiful Space Images From NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/kimber-streams/" rel="author" title="Kimber Streams">Kimber Streams</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-07T16:17:48+00:00">November 7, 2013</span> </div>
<div class="entry-content">
<a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html"><img alt="Chandra Data Archive" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347881" height="720" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/1.jpg" width="576" /></a><br />
To celebrate <a href="http://www2.archivists.org/initiatives/american-archives-month">American Archive Month</a> in October, <a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/">NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory</a> has <a href="http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/chandra/news/xray-universe-legacy.html#.Unv_MuL9VQU">released beautiful photos and descriptions</a> of eight celestial objects stored in the Chandra Data Archive. To <a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html">see more of the breathtaking images</a> and <a href="http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/chandra/news/xray-universe-legacy.html#.Unv_MuL9VQU">learn about them</a>, head over to NASA and the Chandra X-Ray Observatory. <br />
<a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html"><img alt="Chandra Data Archive" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347882" height="640" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/20131107-16110816-2.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<blockquote>
NGC 6946 is a medium-sized, face-on spiral galaxy about 22 million light years away from Earth. In the past century, eight supernovas have been observed to explode in the arms of this galaxy. Chandra observations (purple) have, in fact, revealed three of the oldest supernovas ever detected in X-rays, giving more credence to its nickname of the “Fireworks Galaxy.” This composite image also includes optical data from the Gemini Observatory in red, yellow, and cyan. </blockquote>
<a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html"><img alt="Chandra Data Archive" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347883" height="640" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/20131107-16110816-3.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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This image provides a view into the central region of a galaxy that is similar in overall appearance to our own Milky Way, but contains a much more active supermassive black hole within the white area near the top. This galaxy, known as NGC 4945, is only about 13 million light years from Earth and is seen edge-on. X-rays from Chandra (blue), which have been overlaid on an optical image from the European Space Observatory, reveal the presence of the supermassive black hole at the center of this galaxy. </blockquote>
<a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html"><img alt="Chandra Data Archive" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347884" height="640" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/20131107-16110816-4.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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When radiation and winds from massive young stars impact clouds of cool gas, they can trigger new generations of stars to form. This is what may be happening in this object known as the Elephant Trunk Nebula (or its official name of IC 1396A). X-rays from Chandra (purple) have been combined with optical (red, green, and blue) and infrared (orange and cyan) to give a more complete picture of this source. </blockquote>
images via <a href="http://www.chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2013/archives/more.html"></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-31059731531766925192013-11-07T06:25:00.002-08:002013-11-07T06:25:30.382-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/an-eight-minute-supercut-of-buddy-cops-in-movies/" rel="bookmark" title="An Eight-Minute Supercut of Buddy Cops in Movies">An Eight-Minute Supercut of Buddy Cops in Movies</a></h2>
<div class="post-info">
By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/justinrampage/" rel="author" title="Justin Page">Justin Page</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-06T15:58:32+00:00">November 6, 2013</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/WlGrkX_1EGY?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
<a href="https://twitter.com/Brutzelpretzel">Brutzelpretzel</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/ClaraDarko2">Clara Darko</a> have created an <a href="http://youtu.be/WlGrkX_1EGY">eight-minute supercut video</a> of <a href="http://slacktory.com/2013/11/montage-buddy-cops-in-film/">buddy cops in movies</a> for <a href="http://slacktory.com/">Slacktory</a>. A <a href="http://slacktory.com/2013/11/montage-buddy-cops-in-film/">full list of films and music</a> used in this video is available at Slacktory.<br />
<blockquote>
A celebration of the American buddy cop subgenre in movies.</blockquote>
submitted </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-64376029419088822462013-11-07T06:22:00.001-08:002013-11-07T06:22:20.701-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<li class="share-email share-service-visible"><a class="share-email sd-button share-icon" href="http://laughingsquid.com/if-your-phone-company-told-the-truth-by-pleated-jeans/?share=email&nb=1" rel="nofollow" title="Click to email this to a friend"><span>Email</span></a></li>
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<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/russian-boy-does-multiple-360-degree-spins-around-around-on-an-old-swing-set/" rel="bookmark" title="Russian Boy Does Multiple 360-Degree Spins Around & Around on an Old Swing Set">Russian Boy Does Multiple 360-Degree Spins Around & Around on an Old Swing Set</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/justinrampage/" rel="author" title="Justin Page">Justin Page</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-07T08:55:49+00:00">November 7, 2013</span> </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/iKc3i0nN-9Q?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-73477062954871576682013-11-06T05:46:00.001-08:002013-11-06T05:46:07.330-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/hilarious-early-training-footage-of-walking-dead-star-norman-reedus-daryl-dixon-struggling-with-a-crossbow/" rel="bookmark" title="Hilarious Early Training Footage of ‘Walking Dead’ Star Norman Reedus (Daryl Dixon) Struggling With a Crossbow">Hilarious Early Training Footage of ‘Walking Dead’ Star Norman Reedus (Daryl Dixon) Struggling With a Crossbow</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/justinrampage/" rel="author" title="Justin Page">Justin Page</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-05T14:39:13+00:00">November 5, 2013</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/XSWxQBq33hE?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
On a <a href="http://teamcoco.com/video/conan-highlight-norman-reedus-crossbow-training">recent episode</a> of <a href="http://teamcoco.com/"><em>Conan</em></a>, late-night host <a href="https://twitter.com/ConanOBrien">Conan O’Brien</a> showed the audience hilarious early training footage of <a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/the-walking-dead"><em>Walking Dead</em></a> star <a href="http://www.normanreedusonline.com/">Norman Reedus</a> (Daryl Dixon) struggling with a crossbow. Why shoot a zombie in the head with an arrow, when you can just throw the entire crossbow at it instead</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-12437116582853571482013-11-06T05:43:00.001-08:002013-11-06T05:43:19.815-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 class="entry-title">
<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/how-to-build-a-hovercraft-new-book-by-fritz-grobe-and-stephen-voltz-of-eepybird/" rel="bookmark" title="How to Build a Hovercraft, New Book by Fritz Grobe and Stephen Voltz of EepyBird">How to Build a Hovercraft, New Book by Fritz Grobe and Stephen Voltz of EepyBird</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/edwlynch/" rel="author" title="EDW Lynch">EDW Lynch</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-11-05T18:42:37+00:00">November 5, 2013</span> </div>
<div class="entry-content">
<a href="http://www.eepybird.com/book/"><img alt="How to Build a Hovercraft" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-347214" height="810" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/eepys.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.eepybird.com/book/"><em>How to Build a Hovercraft</em></a> is a book of DIY science projects by Fritz Grobe and Stephen Voltz (aka <a href="http://www.eepybird.com/">EepyBird</a>), the duo responsible for the <a href="http://laughingsquid.com/search/eepybird">Diet Coke and Mentos geyser meme</a>. The book includes instructions on how to build more than 25 showy science projects including a leaf blower hovercraft, and a giant air vortex cannon. The book is available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00ECM6B82/laughing-squid-20">Amazon</a>.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/zwrgaKdqfWo?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
submitted via <a href="http://laughingsquid.com/laughing-squid-tips-form/"></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-46535707155186371282013-11-06T05:34:00.000-08:002013-11-06T05:34:00.270-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You Might See Tattoos In A New Light After You See Them On This Woman</h1>
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As the owner of a tattoo, I know the value of a little ink. They can be used to commemorate moments in your life that are really difficult and serve as a reminder that you're a strong person. Just like they did for Molly Ortwein.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" id="kzO2U0fJ0jM_1" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/kzO2U0fJ0jM?wmode=transparent&showinfo=0&controls=1&enablejsapi=1&rel=0&version=3"></iframe></div>
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<br />Share this (if you think Molly's impressive strength shouldn't go unnoticed) by clicking the Facebook and Twitter buttons below<br /><br /><br /> </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-29566691481480554072013-11-01T05:21:00.001-07:002013-11-01T05:21:16.179-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h1>
<a href="http://boingboing.net/2013/10/31/taiwanese-special-forces.html" rel="bookmark">Taiwanese special forces</a> </h1>
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<a href="http://boingboing.net/author/cory_doctorow_1" rel="author" title="Posts by Cory Doctorow">Cory Doctorow</a> at 4:27 pm Thu, Oct 31, 2013 • <span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/taiwanese-special-forces/13227">57</a></span><a href="http://bbs.boingboing.net/t/taiwanese-special-forces/13227"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/comments.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -3px;" /></a> • <span id="sharethis-trigger-265488"><a href="javascript:void(0)"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/shareMe.png" style="margin: 0px 3px -1px;" /></a></span><span class="sharingbox" id="sharethis-265488"><span class="emailDiv"><a href="mailto:type%20email%20address%20here?subject=Shared%20from%20Boing Boing&body=Taiwanese special forces - http://boingboing.net/2013/10/31/taiwanese-special-forces.html" target="_blank" title="Email to a friend/colleague"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -60px;" /></a></span><span class="fbDiv"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=http://boingboing.net/2013/10/31/taiwanese-special-forces.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -42px;" /></a></span><span class="twitterDiv"><a href="http://twitter.com/home?status=Taiwanese+special%26nbsp%3Bforces: http://boingboing.net/2013/10/31/taiwanese-special-forces.html" target="_blank" title="Click to Tweet this page"><img src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/themes/2012/sundries/share.png" style="margin-left: -27px;" /></a></span></span><div class="post-content">
<img class="bordered" mobile="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/613e7a9149e804bc4cfe431dc224829a590e10811382185163-300x393.jpg" original="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/613e7a9149e804bc4cfe431dc224829a590e10811382185163.jpg" src="http://media.boingboing.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/613e7a9149e804bc4cfe431dc224829a590e10811382185163-300x393.jpg" /><br />Here's the new Taiwanese Special Forces uniform -- what all the smart hypermilitarized coppers are wearing this year</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-42166349312109805742013-11-01T05:19:00.004-07:002013-11-01T05:19:35.888-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/an-educational-ted-ed-animation-about-the-truth-and-myth-behind-vampires/" rel="bookmark" title="An Educational TED-Ed Animation About the Truth and Myth Behind Vampires">An Educational TED-Ed Animation About the Truth and Myth Behind Vampires</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/justinrampage/" rel="author" title="Justin Page">Justin Page</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-10-31T17:32:04+00:00">October 31, 2013</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_0ThKRmySoU?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://ed.ted.com/">TED-Ed</a> commissioned educator Michael Molina to “dig up the science and the superstitions” about vampires in their animated Halloween short “<a href="http://ed.ted.com/lessons/vampires-folklore-fantasy-and-fact-michael-molina">Vampires: Folklore, fantasy and fact</a>.” The animation was created by <a href="http://nadav-animation.tumblr.com/">Nadav Arbel</a> with artwork by <a href="http://moranbarak.com/">Morgan Barak</a>.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8333894198983299265.post-12173780131804371592013-11-01T05:19:00.001-07:002013-11-01T05:19:11.440-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://laughingsquid.com/the-geography-of-horror-an-interactive-map-of-famous-horror-movie-locations/" rel="bookmark" title="The Geography of Horror, An Interactive Map of Famous Horror Movie Locations">The Geography of Horror, An Interactive Map of Famous Horror Movie Locations</a></h2>
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By <span class="author vcard"><span class="fn"><a href="http://laughingsquid.com/author/kimber-streams/" rel="author" title="Kimber Streams">Kimber Streams</a></span></span> on <span class="date published time" title="2013-10-31T17:41:50+00:00">October 31, 2013</span> </div>
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<a href="http://mediamaps.esri.com/geography-of-horror/"><img alt="The Geography of Horror" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-346155" height="261" src="http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/20131031-17402488-2013-10-31_1740.png" width="640" /></a><br />
Mapping software company <a href="http://www.esri.com/">Esri</a> has created “<a href="http://mediamaps.esri.com/geography-of-horror/">The Geography of Horror</a>,” an interactive world map that plots the geographical locations of over 200 top-rated horror movies. The map can also be sorted by decade, filtering out locations from films in the 60s, 80s, and more. <a href="http://mediamaps.esri.com/geography-of-horror/">Head over to “The Geography of Horror”</a> to explore the map for yourself.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0