The Book of Eadie, Volume One of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

“Sir, the Agent took over the room he was using as an office. He’ll remain there in case she returns and—”

  “Is that what I asked you? Where is this con man?”

  “The Agent determined that he knew nothing and let him go, sir.”

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  A stinking underground room in what was called “Fiend territory:”

  Sato’s filthy captors towered over his upside-down face. The taller one, whose shadow fell across Sato in the light of a single oil lamp, slapped him again. Sato twisted the naked body he controlled, enraged, struggling against his bonds. They were slippery now from the sweat and blood this body had lost, but he could not yet pull himself free.

  “Nobody can handle this much pain. What’re you on? I never seen no pain killer last this long.”

  Sato sneered up at them without speaking.

  “Let’s try it again, asshole. We can see you’re a white man. Now what’s your fuckin’ name?”

  “Sato Motomichi.”

  Another slap. “Do you even know where you are?”

  “I can remember some things. I know that you are … Fiends, and that this is your territory. I know that this object under my back is an oil drum, and that you have tied my hands and feet to the floor with old electrical cords, which are the same things you have whipped me with.” Sato’s anger boiled up—really, down—his throat. He thrashed from side to side, straining to lift his head. “And I know that you are nothing but fish entrails and if I had even one hand free I would reach into your guts and present you with a fistful of your true natures! You are—”

  The cord whipped across the body again, distracting Sato momentarily. He struggled harder. “You are filth! Honorless filth.” He raised his voice over the repeating swish-thwack of the cord as it echoed off the grimy concrete walls. “You live in small bands, killing and stealing and raping, like animals! You fight and die, but your deaths are meaningless.”

  “That ain’t true, samurai.” The shorter one with the cord said. “This here’s the New Union. You’re talkin’ about other Wild Ones, before Top Dog came along and founded the New Union!” The cord whipped down again. “Now we’re organized. Civilized!” The cord came down again, punctuating the sentence. Its sound was wetter now that several welts were bleeding.

  Sato stopped thrashing as the body grew unresponsive to his demands. The tall one came up near his head; Sato saw only boots.

  “Why you doin’ this, pal? You don’t hafta keep goin’ like this. All we’re tryin’ to do is figure out what kinda guy you are. If you’re New Union material, you join us and take over the whole fuckin’ world. If you’re not, you meet Unity, and the pain stops.”

  The man squatted down, lifting Sato’s head by its hair. “Oh, is that it? You afraid of Unity?”

  “By ‘Unity,’ you mean death.” Sato sneered. “I do not fear death. I have already died once, by my own sword, in my own hand.” His narrowed, accusing eyes darted from one to the other. “I am the only one here who has experienced what you call Unity.”

  The squatting Fiend released Sato’s head, which swung back and forth, hair dusting the concrete floor. Sato expected the cord again but the one holding it must have already exhausted himself. “We heard all this,” the voice above the boots said. “Tell us the fuckin’ truth. Why are you here?”

  “I told you the truth. I am samurai!”

  “Heard it.” The cord whipped down furiously, across his torso, chest, thighs.

  “I have come on a mission to save the Life Force—”

  “Heard it.” The cord struck his arms, wrapping around one, sliding his body on the oil drums as it was ripped back again. The one by his head stepped forward so that his toe knocked against Sato’s skull as he rocked back and forth. “Tell us again what you think about taking orders.”

  “I told you before. I am samurai—a warrior. All warriors must take orders from superiors. Without discipline there would be chaos on the battlefield, with soldiers running in every direction. It is not the strength of the soldier that determines his value. It is the obedience of the soldier.”

  The cord did not zip through the air. Sato strained his stomach and neck muscles, curling to look at the Fiends. They were staring at each other. Finally, the taller one spoke.

  “You said you wanted to join us, but then you said you served some general. Why’d you say that if you served someone else?”

  Sato could not tell them that it was the other man in this body who had volunteered. “I have not seen my general for a long time,” he said. “It is true that I have a mission, to the source of all life, but there is no action I can take toward that goal now. I will serve you faithfully until such time as I am reunited with my general. On this I give my word.”

  “Give him Unity, Patrol Leader,” the one with the cord said. “He’s crazy, and he’s full a shit, too.”

  “Probably right, Frontman. But we’ll have to let the Divinators decide what to do with him. What he’s saying about honor and duty, and structure … it’s damned close to what Top Dog says. And look how tough he is: Anybody else would’ve been out cold from the pain way before now. Anyways, I don’t think we’ll run into any Japanese generals anytime soon.” He laughed. “Our job is to see if he’s got the potential to become one of us, and I think he’s passed that test.”

  He bent down, snatching Sato by the hair again. “But the Divinators look for something else, samurai. Their job is finding out what’s inside you—what you believe. And maybe you don’t feel much pain now, but they’re about to change that.”

  The man turned, pointing the boots out the door as the other followed him. “Good luck to you, Samurai.”

  Inside Agent Hawkins’ brain

  “Daiss?” Agent Hawkins drew back his head, as if doing so would clarify the image in his mind. “What happened? I didn’t recognize you.”

  “That’s why I did it. We decided this would produce the most information.”

  “What is it? Make-up? Some kind of dye?”

  Daiss held up a hand, turning it over. “Pills. A drug that brings all the skin’s melanin up to the surface. It was an early scientific attempt at dealing with excess solar radiation, before skin symbiotic fungi were developed. The downside was, of course, that it turned everyone black.”

  “So you’re going to impersonate the black man?”

  Daiss pursed his lips while the rest of his face twisted in a condescending “I’m-so-disappointed” expression. “You know, Agent Hawkins, I’m happy to assist in your case, but I’m not at liberty to discuss specific details of the operation as they relate to Task Force Zeta’s agenda.”

  “Oh? Great. Then you can go deal with Ricker next time. He wants information and since you’re the one with all the answers—.”

  “Ricker is of no interest to me. As you will soon learn, Agent Hawkins, Task Force Zeta responds only to the highest authority. If that means teaching Ricker how unimportant he truly is, so be it.”

  Williams Gypsum Corporation Headquarters, Central Business District

  Chairman Lawrence Williams VI stared at the two black-suited men in his office. Their suits seemed to emerge from the textured Corporate Green walls, like warts.

  “Your son’s been a very bad boy, Mr. Williams,” said the one on the right, who seemed to do all the talking for the pair. “I’m sure you know he won’t be joining McGuillian now. There’s no way they’ll let him stay at Fisher.” The Unnamed shrugged. “Not a big loss for them, is it? Just a tired, dwindling company and a deviant criminal student.”

  “That’s Chairman Williams, to you.” He looked condescendingly from one to the other, trying to stare them down, though he could barely see their eyes through the glasses they wore. “What is it that you want?”

  “Information, of course. About your bad, bad boy. Where is he?”

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I knew. You had to r
ealize that before you came in here. Get out of my office.”

  The Unnamed was suddenly only centimeters from his face, staring at him with narrowed eyes through the dense bulletproof bioplexi glasses. “Listen, asshole. We’re gonna find that son of yours. You can make it hard on yourself, or not. But we’ll get him one way or the other.”

  “Back off, thug,” Williams Six said. “You’re talking to the Chairman of a sovereign corporation.”

  The Unnamed laughed. “Not much of a corporation, though, is it? Certain other interests could wipe you out, just for fun.” He slapped Williams hard across the face. “Tell me where the kid is.”

  Williams fumed.

  “What’re you gonna do, Mr. Chairman? What can you do?”

  Williams shoved the black-suited man backward and dove to the floor. Both Unnamed’s heads exploded into red mist and the black-suited bodies crumpled.

  Gunshots from down the corridor immediately followed, confirming that the two Ricker UE who had remained in the reception area had been similarly dealt with.

  He stood, flicking bits of flesh from his corporate uniform.

  “That’s what I can do, you pompous prick,” he said. Four new men in black suits appeared, two through doorways, two from behind a curtain—the Williams Gypsum Corporation’s own Unnamed Executives, weapons in hand. “I trust you will get this mess cleaned up for me, One-Fourteen?”

  The tallest of the four nodded. “Of course, sir.” He watched the others scoop up two of the pairs of sunglasses and drag out one of the bodies, then closed the door, lowering his voice. “If I may ask, though, sir, are you prepared for the war you just started? RickerResources must have at least a thousand Unnamed. Your company has only eight of us, sir.”

  “Nobody threatens me like that, demeaning my company and my family. I’m company Chairman, God damn it.” He nudged the remaining headless corpse with his toe. “As for the numbers of Unnamed … There are going to be some changes in our corporate structure. You’ll have all the help you need.”

  Some street in the Zone

  “I’m glad we got out before the sun came up,” Lawrence said. His voice trembled a little from the cold. Or maybe it was from feeling so scared and vulnerable on the streets of the Zone. There had been daylight for hours now and he realized the night had been safer. In the dark, nobody could see how weak and defenseless their little group was.

  “It wouldn’t have been long before the Feds found us there,” Eadie agreed. She cupped her hands and blew into them. “At least we got a chance to rest and collect a few supplies at the old lady’s place.”

  “The food won’t last long, though,” Lawrence said. He felt the bottom of his bag, identifying some candles and a few dry bactrocarb crackers. Everyone was carrying something. Even the Prophet had a big canvas purse full of wood splinters and rags. Lawrence turned to Dok. “Will we be able to stock up once we get where we’re going?”

  Dok shook his head, scowling.

  Lawrence lowered his voice, bending toward Eadie. “Do you know where we’re headed? Hopefully it’s somewhere safer.”

  “Not much chance of that,” she said. “Dok’s place was in one of the safest parts of the Zone. And look how much more run-down the buildings are around here. I don’t know this area, but that’s probably because it’s not a place I’d want to visit.”

  Lawrence raised the collar of his long coat. “It’s good that you were able to get some different clothes,” he said, as his arm brushed the sleeve of the gray wool jacket she wore. “I wish I didn’t stand out so much in this uniform.”

  Eadie smiled a little. “But I thought you were so proud of being a student.”

  Lawrence bit his lip. The gravel crunched under their shoes. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ll never be a student again.”

  They were passing a dirty cinderblock building with all of its windows broken out. Lawrence stared at letters written in charcoal next to the front door: “E.D.”

  “I’m so sorry about that,” she said. “You shouldn’t have given up your whole life just to help me.”

  “It was my choice,” Lawrence said. “My life, my choice. But I feel so bad for everyone else. My friends, my school … everyone I know will be disgraced by this. My parents, our company … And my sister—oh, God. My poor sister. Her fiancé will call off the engagement.”

  “He’d do that, just because you helped me?”

  “Of course. He wants to marry her because of what she is. Her class rank, her prospective position at McGuillian and her family’s respectability will all directly affect his status and his future. People who decide whether to hire him and promote him would know all about her. He can’t afford to make a bad choice.” He shook his head, exhaling. “Poor Ani. I wish I could tell her how sorry I am.”

  Dok leaned closer to them both. “Could you two shut up now? This isn’t a place where you want everyone to know you’re coming.”

  The tiny tenement room where the black man had waged his futile battle against God’s will

  Agent Daiss pulled on the once-white lab coat, shrugging his shoulders to try and force his massive arms through the sleeves. One sleeve tore away from the body, leaving a thready rent down the back. He would have to bring his own lab coat to make him look more authentic.

  Letting the black man take so much of his “equipment” might have made the room look less convincing, but it was necessary to prevent him from attempting to return.

  A timid knock sounded on the door. Daiss opened it, staring down at the little Zone woman who stood in the hall. One of her eyes was swollen shut and her face was crusted with dried blood from her nose. She gaped up at Daiss.

  “I’m sorry, I was looking for Dok.”

  Even with the dark skin, it appeared some of these people could still tell the difference. It was unfortunate, but not an insurmountable problem. “I’m Dok’s cousin, Drake,” he said, taking a single step backward to let her pass into the office.

  She came in and sat on the table, silently staring at the wall. Daiss wondered if this charlatan actually touched his “patients.” No matter. Daiss was not prepared to put his own hands on these wretches. He tilted his head sideways, narrowing his eyes, then tilted it in the other direction. For this purpose it was close enough to an examination. He went to his bag, removing two small plastic bags of powder.

  “I was coming home from work last night,” the woman said, still staring at the wall. Her mouth was swollen, making her look and sound like she had stuffed it with a rag. “Three men attacked me.” A few tears welled out of her eyes.

  Daiss nodded. “I see. I have two powders here—”

  “I’m … I’m most concerned about, you know …”

  Daiss stared, grinding his teeth to help him suppress his annoyance at the interruption. It was tempting to simply smash the woman’s face in, but that might interfere with his mission.

  She lowered her head, staring into her lap. “I don’t want to have another baby. I’m not in a corporation … I can’t pay for the kid I’ve already got. I can’t have another, and pay the birth tax, and all the procreation fees, and—”

  Daiss pushed the two baggies into her hand. “The lighter colored powder is very strong medicine and your stomach might not be able to keep it down without taking the yellow first. Mix it into a glass of water and swallow it. Then do the same with the light one, making sure to finish all of it. I guarantee you won’t have another baby.”

  Shitbox Manor

  Though Old Fart’s stomach was still sour, he was starting to feel its emptiness. They had been sitting on Kel’s floor for several hours, recuperating.

  “Kel? When do you think we might get something to eat?” he asked.

  Kel shrugged and reached for his lighter, rolling it around in his hands. “Soon as we find somethin’ to eat, Old Fart.”

  Old Fart stopped talking for a moment, but the silence was starting to wear on him. “Why do you keep your door open all the time?” he asked finally. This
doesn’t seem like a very safe place for that.”

  “Just like it open, is all. My place, my door, so I keep it the way I like. Shit.”

  Old Fart looked down at the floor, sulking. The room went quiet again, with Kel absent-mindedly fondling the lighter and Old Fart staring out the open door.

  Creaks and squeaks echoed in the stairwell. Someone was climbing up the ruined stairs. Kel stood up. The sharpened keys dangled from their wire at his side.

  The sounds came from different places in the stairwell—it was a group of people climbing up. Old Fart froze, anxiously watching the stairwell doorway. A silhouette appeared, head turning to take in the hallway, then fixing on Old Fart. It came slowly closer. Others rose behind it.

  Finally a face came into the dim daylight that filtered through Kel’s window. Old Fart stared, wide-eyed. He had heard stories, of course. He knew what this was. But he had never imagined he might be face-to-face with a real, live Black Negro.

  Kel moved toward the door. Of course! Kel was too young. He probably never heard the stories!

  “Kel!” Old Fart whispered. “Kel, be careful!”

  Kel waved a hand down at him, as if swatting a low-flying insect. He stood at the edge of the hole in the floor, peering out at the man.

  “You that doctor?” Kel asked.

  Doctor?

  The Black Negro nodded. “I’m looking for your neighbor, Brian,” he said. “Do you know if he’s around?”

  Kel shook his head, then cocked it toward the next door down. “Lives there. You been here before, gettin’ supplies from him, right? I watched you go by once.”

  The doctor nodded.

  Kel shrugged. “I saw him come home real early but then he snuck out again,” Kel said. “You c’n go ahead an’ knock, anyways. Everyone knows how he creeps around.” Kel shook his head again. “Couldn’t of got past me when I was awake, though.

  The man nodded and passed to the next door, knocking. Behind him came a girl with a cut face, a kid in a college uniform, and a skinny hobo.