But he was always so talented and so caring before all of this happened. Does anyone else believe it’s probably this drug that pushed him over the edge?
…
MediPirates Bulletin Board
Posted by Vron #dZ229e:
I have never met Dok in person but have seen enough of his work on this forum to know that he was one of the greats. Something must have happened to change him. The drugs today are so potent that they really can alter a person’s nature. I’m sure that Dok would never have poisoned all those people if he had been in his right mind.
—
Dok turned away from the suspended text the computer was projecting above the old coffee table he now used as an exam table. He rubbed a few tears from his eyes and sniffed. An older Subject woman named Alira looked up from where she was polishing instruments on a clean towel. The four glowing lines across her forehead indicated that she had achieved the highest rank available to ordinary Subjects: that of Professional. Though the title would seem to indicate a special skill set, Alira didn’t seem to be especially proficient at anything as far as Dok could see. He had argued vehemently against getting his own mark but found that without one the helplessly hierarchical Subjects were almost completely incapable of interacting with him. Now whenever he caught a glimpse of his own reflection, he saw the glowing “snake” they had made of a living, symbiotic, glowing fungus in the shape of an “S,” which meant it appeared as a backwards “S” to everyone else. The snake indicated his status as physician, and though the mark set him apart from the official hierarchy, it established him, like the rest of Eadie’s group, in a position of great respect and power. In fact, Dok had impressed upon the others the need to ask for nothing beyond what was crucial, because it was clear the Subjects would go to almost any length, no matter how extreme or unreasonable, to obey them or fulfill their wishes.
Because the Subjects had nothing and were living on a starvation diet, there were no goods, no spare calories for which anything could be bartered. Physical servitude was their currency; anyone of higher rank was entitled to demand anything at all from any lower-ranked Subject. Dok could’ve been paid for his contribution to the community with sex from any of them he chose, had not every one of them been his patient. He had tried to train a few of them to assist him in his medical practice, but as yet only Alira had shown any aptitude.
Someone cleared his throat in the connecting tunnel.
“Have I come at a bad time?” Old Fart asked.
Dok laughed sadly to himself. “Well, according to more than a hundred messages on this forum, I’m a murderer and I’m being hunted by the Feds and an angry mob from the Zone. There probably won’t be a better time for me in the near future.”
Old Fart stepped in, gazing enviously at the computer. “You got a machine, eh?”
“Dropped down a sewer yesterday and the Subjects brought it to me. They thought I’d put it to the best use before the battery died.” Dok turned it off to save what little power remained.
“Probably true,” Old Fart said. “How do you get a signal down here?”
“They rigged some antenna with wires. Ernesto helped figure it out, of course. It works like an old-time radio now.” He gently guided Alira to what served as his doorway with a hand behind her back, and she disappeared into the tunnel.
Old Fart cleared his throat again. “I heard you wanted to talk with me. I assume it’s about the big raid Eadie has planned.”
Dok at first nodded silently, but then answered aloud when he remembered how dark the room was. “Yes, of course,” he said. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.” The lamp on the table was a clear glass bowl of a bioluminescent fungal suspension that smelled like old synth cheese. It feebly lit the space about a hand’s width all around it but failed to illuminate either man’s face.
“They follow her because they believe in her,” Old Fart said. He leaned back against the curving wall, his back sagging into its shape. “Have you seen what they’ve done in the tunnels? Almost everywhere I look, someone has carved, ‘E-period, D-period.’ I’m even seeing it above ground when I look out from the drains now and again: ‘E.D.’ Maybe some of them are training up there now.”
“I saw those initials etched everywhere before we came here,” Dok said. “The Subjects copied it, thinking it meant Eadie, like Eadie had come to save them. Who knows what they meant originally? Harbingers of some new era, perhaps.”
“They all want what Eadie is offering,” Old Fart continued. “Their own lives are on the line. Who am I to say it’s the wrong choice?”
“But the Subjects can’t pull off a raid like this. I’ve been treating these people, you know. They’re far too weak. Even with all the Prophet’s magic fungal strains I can just barely keep them alive.”
“You know how they grow those strains?” Old Fart asked. “A subject came to me with a minor dispute. Called himself a farmer. He reeked of death. And it turned out that was his job, dissolving the dead bodies of other Subjects in solutions to feed the fungi.” Old Fart paused. “They can’t go on like this forever. They have to do something, Dok.”
Federal Administration Building
“Welcome, Brother Daiss, Brother Jakeel,” Instructor Samuelson said. “Nice to see you back to your original color, Daiss. The other was disconcerting.” He placed his palm against the elevator panel. “Level U-6,” he said. The panel flashed, reading his palm and the magnetic code of his permanent bracelet, and the elevator descended.
“Brother Jakeel has been assigned to assist you in the Ricker case, Brother Daiss,” Samuelson said. The elevator stopped. “We’ll hold our conversation until we reach the room, shall we?” The door slid open and he walked purposefully down the corridor. The two Agents fell into perfect step behind him.
Another palm lock admitted them to a room at the end of the hall. Harsh lights glowed as they entered, revealing a space the size of a small restaurant. In the middle of the room, tables had been pushed together to support several stacks of large polymer crates. Samuelson shut the door. “This room has been screened by our Zeta techs,” he said. “It’s clean—nobody’s listening.” He indicated the crates piled high in front of them. “Go ahead.”
The Agents took one crate from the top and lowered it gently to the tabletop, pulling at the tabs that held it closed.
“The new Tridents,” Samuelson said. “Keyed only to Zeta bracelets. I’ve told you that the task force has friends in very, very high places. Now we’ve got exclusive access to the world’s most powerful tactical firearms.”
They removed one from the crate, a shining stainless steel skeleton framework with black grips. Two rods connected over the central barrel in a “V” that opened toward the user. “Three barrels, sir?” Jakeel asked.
“Rails, Brother Jakeel. This is a rail gun.” Samuelson ran his index fingers down the two outer rods, which Daiss could now see were actually hollow tubes. “Running electric current through a barrel-shaped rail pushes the projectile out at nearly the speed of light,” Samuelson said, taking the weapon from them.
“Forgive my ignorance, sir,” Daiss said. “I had heard that rail guns were not useful for police operations.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Samuelson said. “Too powerful. Fire once at some dirtbag out there and you’d be sure to send him back to the Lord, but the projectile would pass right through him and the seven or eight buildings behind him at an unthinkable speed. Highly impractical … a Federal Agent might be in one of those buildings. They were simply too dangerous.”
“But these are different, sir?” Jakeel asked.
“Quite.” Samuelson flipped a switch and the weapon came to life, spreading the two outer rods far apart so that the weapon formed a letter “T,” with the middle barrel extending a little past the top. “Those are rails, of course,” he said, nodding at the cross bars of the “T.” “The one in the middle that doesn’t move is just an ordinary gun barrel—each movable tube is itself a rail
gun. The weapon judges the distance to the target and adjusts the rail tubes accordingly. Everything in this room is too close to use the rails, so in this case they would stay apart and the ordinary gun barrel would fire. If we were on an open street, the rails would be closer together. By having the two rails fire simultaneously from opposing angles, the weapon puts two projectiles on a collision course, impacting with the target and each other at the same time. There’s nothing left to carry through the target and cause collateral damage.”
“What’s the range, sir?” Daiss asked.
“The minimum range for the rails is somewhere between twenty and thirty meters, but the maximum range is practically unlimited. If you can see it, you can kill it with a Trident. In fact, its effective range extends far beyond that of human sight, and there will soon be applications for aiming it through feedback from the civil surveillance system. And remember, these projectiles move at the speed of light. There’s no need to lead your target to allow for a bullet to travel.”
“It’s an amazing development, sir,” Jakeel said.
Samuelson handed it back to Daiss and nodded at Jakeel, who removed another from the case. “We’re fighting an endless army of vagrants and derelicts,” he said. “Each one waiting for his chance to destroy everything God has given us. Policing the society of today requires this level of firepower.” He sighed. “The war will only become more difficult, my Brothers.”
The last functioning Williams Gypsum mine
Chairman Williams grunted as the machine drew some blood. “I guess this contraption knows what it’s doing,” he said, nodding at the synthesizer that had been hung on the limestone wall. This one was designated to meet the medical needs of the Chairman, Ani, and all the ambulatory workers. The one that provided all the various medications and nutrients for the incapacitated family members was with them in a separate chamber. “But I wish it would rid me of this damned cancer once and for all. How many times do I have to waste a whole day hooked up to this machine while it prints me a new pancreas? And it’s every six months or so, anymore.”
“Mother will be hooked up for all time, now, sir,” Ani said.
“I know. It’s a terrible thing. I’m fortunate that the Lord willed me to live. It is a real shame He didn’t see fit to spare your mother the same way.”
“I want to hurt them, Father,” she said. “I want Ricker and his thugs to pay. And I know it’s the right thing to want because I’m getting that thrill again.”
He nodded, smiling. “Me, too. Pathway amplification does have its benefits. The Lord rewards those who are on the right track. I’m so proud of you since your reconditioning, Ani. Our company needs all the dedicated employees it can get.”
“I’m proud too, Father. It’s God’s will.”
Underground, Ceremonial Chamber
“These rain ceremonies are always kind of unsettling,” Eadie whispered to Lawrence.
“Yeah,” he whispered back. “There are a lot of things I’ve never really gotten used to down here, but this is definitely the strangest. I wonder if they came up with all this just to pass the time while they had to be locked in here, waiting for the water to go down.”
“I’ll bet that’s exactly how it started,” she said. “The ritual gives them something to occupy their minds, and the religion keeps them in line. There’s no room for dissent down here. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn it was all the Prophet’s idea, once upon a time.”
They were now inside the Subjects’ most sacred space: a tubular room about as long as a city block and half as wide. Smaller tunnels fed into this central one from all sides, forming a star-shaped labyrinth. Each of the smaller passages was closed off at intervals along its length with a series of watertight doors, sealed with strips of rubber tires. An old flashlight was turned on, casting its meager beam over the half-dozen Subjects who marched in a circle to operate an air pump the size of a dining table. The cool, rhythmic blasts of air it gave off kept everyone in the room from suffocation. Low voices murmured nearby, reciting a droning chant of gratitude to the Great Mother for the Underground Kingdom’s protection. All around, Subjects lay on their backs with their eyes closed, uttering short verses with long pauses in between, in a sort of whispered croak.
“Some of them might not make it out of this room today,” she said. “Or tonight. Whatever it is.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“It’s like I told you before: The Prophet’s magic mildews only go so far. These people are starving. They’re dying, fading faster every day … and we’re fading, too, in case you haven’t noticed. None of us will ever be stronger than we are right now.” She drew a deep breath before continuing.
“It’s time. We’re going ahead with the plan as soon as the rain stops.”
21
Dear Dr. Kessler, Sir:
Thank you for informing me of our department’s nomination for an Innovation Award. It is truly an honor. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that our new formatting is working so well and that our contribution is so valued at Amelix.
Thank you also for your willingness to recommend me for additional study in pursuit of my own Doctor of Corporate Regulations degree. I have recently been accepted to the program and, as we discussed, my thesis will be centered around the subliminal/overt techniques we have developed to influence our inquiring employees. I believe there are significant advantages to be gained by applying these same methods in the education of our undergraduate students. It could help ensure that each of them is suitably prepared to serve the Lord here at Amelix even before they graduate.
As you know, there are still a few minor issues in our system interface that I am committed to resolving before I leave to begin my doctoral program. I will be working late for the next several weeks to ensure that everything is perfect when I turn it over to the next team leader.
Eric Basali
Vacuum
“All right, samurai,” Brian said to the mist. “You drank the Juice so you’re in control. No use fighting it. I’ll just sit here, enjoying the carnage for now.
“I see we’re getting pretty deep into the suburbs …
“I’ve gotta tell you, I like your work. One swipe of that sword and heads drop to the concrete; no wonder all the Fiends love you. But the couple of suburban border guards we’ve sliced up so far will seem like nothing once this raid really gets going.”
Looking up from the storm sewer
“Eadie, this isn’t working,” Lawrence said.
“I can see that.”
Through the narrow opening they had a clear view of the Subjects who had braved the surface and attempted to stage their phony protest. Only five of them had actually made it out of the tunnels. Now those five were huddled together, looking confused and defeated, dragging their nearly illegible signs on the ground.
“You asked for me, General?” the Prophet asked, leaning in from the narrow tunnel leading to the drain area.
“You said they’d follow me, Prophet. You said I was going to help them by leading them, and there were supposed to be forty or fifty of them up there. Nobody’s going to be distracted by five Subjects standing around looking pathetic! How are we supposed to get Lawrence and Old Fart into the warehouse?”
“They will follow you, General. That is beyond certain. But they may not follow only your words.”
Her exhalation echoed around the chamber. “You’re saying I’ve got to go up there if I want them to do what I told them to do?”
“The Subjects are timid and passive, General. It is how they came to the Underground Kingdom in the first place. I regret to say that they may well need more than verbal encouragement.”
She sighed.
“Eadie, you know you can’t go up there,” Lawrence said. “It’s right outside the CBD—there are cameras trained on the area from both sides of the fence, with all the latest pattern recognition technology and everything. They’ll identify you for sure! Ricker, the Feds—they will all be coming
for you.”
She said nothing for a moment, squinting up into the painfully bright daylight.
“We just need our distraction to work for a little while. I got away from the Feds before by coming down here. I think I can do it again.”
“That’s crazy—”
“This is the best chance we’re ever going to get. We’ve got to take it. Go get ready to run for that warehouse.”
A Zone apartment building
“It’s her!” Mrs. Evans said in her message. “E.D.—the General who’s gonna change things for all of us! I’m attaching the news footage that just popped up—her face is covered, but you can see it on the infrared cameras.
“They say she killed the Ricker kid—the heir to RickerResources—and two Federal Angels!
“E.D. can take them down and build us up, but she needs our help, right now! She’s our only chance to take what we need. Look at all her followers! And more keep comin’!
“She’s leading a protest outside the CBD. Gather everyone you can find and come rally around her. This girl will change the world.”
A ruling-class dwelling
“Looook, Frontman Saaamurai. Real cloth curtains!”
Sato nodded, taking one. “Very gooood, Rounder Spiiiral, but stay away from the wiiindows. We came heeere in stealth and even their caameras could not have picked us up yet. Do not spoil our aadvantage.” He wiped his blade, then dropped the bloody curtain over its former owner’s detached head.
“Are you iiinjured, Frontmaan?” Spiral asked. “You look siiick.”
At the end of the long, comfortable room was a large screen showing a broadcast news program. The story being reported was about a major bioengineering company and some dispute involving one of its products.
The Book of Eadie, Volume One of the Seventeen Trilogy Page 32
