by R E Kearney
Robert smirks and shakes his head. He silently chastises CRAGI and AGI. “Good attempt AGI, but no. I’m too busy and irresponsible for a dog. I fear with any dog, I would soon echo comedian Rodney Dangerfield’s lament that the reason he named his dog Egypt was because in every room he leaves a pyramid.”
“That is an illogical statement. Canis familiaris does not possess the capacity to construct a pyramid.” AGI and CRAGI simultaneously complain together.
“Exactly! It’s a joke.” Robert chuckles. “Remember our discussion of idioms, AGI? Well, in Dangerfield’s statement, a pyramid is not really a pyramid. Pyramid represents his dog Egypt’s… Well, anyway, that’s why it is funny.”
“Funny?” CRAGI inquires.
“Funny. Humorous.” Recognition of a simple truth strikes Robert. “Aha! You’ll never get the joke, because you have no sense of humor. And, you’ll never have a sense of humor. CRAGI, you can mimic laughter, buy you can never MAML learn a sense of humor. A sense of humor cannot be written into an algorithm either, AGI. So, the two of you will never…ever…get the joke…any joke. Only humans…real life, biological humans, like me, will get the joke. And that…my silicon brained partners is what makes humans the superior creature.”
“Superior creature. Now that is a very funny joke.” CRAGI forces a synthetic laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
Dismissively, Robert shakes his head. “No! Sorry, CRAGI. I’m not accepting that as a joke. Good attempt, though. For your MAML, consider jokes as observations of human failings…emotions…being illogical. Exploiting those human weaknesses will be the key to our success. Searching for illogical human killers using cyber logic illogically, which only I, as a human can do, is the only way, I…we will find and stop this scourge.”
RELE
Splop! Rube dumps puddles of sand colored paint across the top of his truck cab. With an old rag, he spreads the paint with swirls and whirls. Schloop! He slops a darker brown paint onto the cab top. He smears the brown in and out and around the sand creating a mess masterpiece.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Merle quizzes Rube, as he brushes his mustang.
“Camouflage. I’m trying to make my truck more difficult to spot in the wastedlands.” Rube explains while mixing in some black color.
“Yeah, we don’t need no camouflage.” Merle pats his horse’s neck. “We ride unmarked, mustangs at night.”
Rube hops out of the truck bed onto the ground. He backs away from the side of his truck to admire his work. A collage of desert colors covers his pick-up from top to bottom. Just for fun, he has thrown some paint on the tires as well.
“Sheriff ordered me to get ready for action. Gave me this writ…instructions for a possible raid.” Rube flashes an official looking document and a broad smile. He is eager. “We’re supposed to get seeds…special seeds for dry land farming. Sheriff wants me to start farming again, Merle. Free us from ICC rule? Bring life back to these wastedlands. Won’t that be great?”
Ignoring Rube’s excitement, Merle angrily spits onto the ground. “Raid? Ain’t heard nothen bout no raid…and I lead all raids.”
Disregarding Merle, Rube collects his emptied paint cans and rags. He carries them toward the court building. “This old girl’s repaired, fueled, painted and ready to roll. Just need the final order to go.”
Attempting to dodge a pile of mustang manure, Rube stumbles, buries his knees in the horseshit, and spills brown paint onto his khaki coveralls. Scowling first at his stinking, paint-dripping uniform, then glowering at Merle, he growls. “I’m fast losing my love of horses. Only one week as a vassal and I’ve already messed up my only clean set of Sheriff’s clothes. Hope this isn’t one of her hara-kiri offenses.”
“No, it’s not that bad. I’ll loan you one of my clean sets.” The vassal Rube spotted scurrying through the corridor when he arrived, extends his hand toward him. “Hello Rube, I’m Rele Gieren. I understand we are mutual acquaintances of Fett.”
“Thanks for the clothes offer. Yep, she told me a lot about you.” Rube sets the paint containers on the ground and grasps Rele’s hand. His palm engulfs Rele’s small, soft hand. Short, thin, pale and flaccid, he is not who Rube expected.
Rele chuckles. “No, she told you what she…well, what she wanted you to know about me and you to think about her. What meets Fett’s needs is the tale Fett tells.”
“So, you weren’t her love god?” Rube jokes.
“More like her sex slave. That woman is nearly insatiable.” Rele shakes his head and wipes his brow. “When she sold me out to Sheriff, I was happy to get away.”
“Me too!” Rube nods in agreement.
“Yeah, that’s great. Glad for you.” Merle steps between Rube and Rele to grab their attention. “But, I want to know bout this raid I ain’t goen on.”
Fanning his hand in front of his nose, Rele backs away from Merle. “You bathed this month? Stink more than Rube here. You even smell worse than your horse.”
“Coarse, I smell like my mustang. I live with him.” Scornfully, Merle spits onto the ground again. “I ain’t no fancy knight or vassal like you. I don’t get to live inside the Shire Court building. Don’t get regular showers, regular meals, clean clothes or even a decent bed. I’m just one of her posse.”
“You’re breaking my heart. Making me feel so extremely sad.” Rele sneers. “You poor country castaways - always whining. You have no idea what’s actually happening in the world…the world outside Sheriff’s Shire. You’re just ignorant…too stupid and uneducated to do anything, but a few simple chores. That’s why you’re stuck out here. You’ve been banished…left behind…tossed aside, and you’ll be out here until you die.”
Clenching his fists, the larger and more muscular Merle stomps toward Rele. “You could die out here, too. Real soon!”
Calmly, Rele stands his ground. With a smirk, he wags his finger taunting Merle. “That mustang you’ve been brushing is a lot smarter and definitely a lot more valuable than you’ll ever be around here. All I have to do is say a few words to Sheriff and you’ll be wandering the wastedlands all by yourself…just another Denver Cull drifting through this desert and life. Or maybe you’d like to go back to that psychosocial reprogramming facility in Denver for some more transcranial direct-current stimulation. Appears to me that you need a lot more social conformance training. Maybe another brain zapping? Eh?”
“I hate Denver!” Merle spits onto the ground near Rele’s feet.
“Imagine you do. Yes, I reckon you do. Being banished as a Cull because you inherited feeble genes from your inbred family has to hurt.” Rele smirks. “So, you wouldn’t enjoy this expedition to Denver anyway.”
Expecting Merle to punch Rele, Rube steps between them. Growling, Merle shoves his chest against Rube’s shoulder. He is not actually planning to fight Rele. Just as Rube expected, Merle is more threat than action. Merle is using him to protect his male ego, allowing him to stop a fight he never planned to fight.
The angrier Merle grows, the happier Rele is, so he continues to antagonize him. “You’re nearly worthless out here, Merle, but you’d be totally worthless in Denver. They would catch you at the border and castrate you. Isn’t that what they do with you useless Culls when you try to sneak back in? Castrate you?”
Rele pats Rube on his arm. “Rube here, is different. Unlike you…and, unfortunately, unlike me…nobody knows Rube in Denver. He’s been lost in the wastedlands so long that he’s ceased to even exist. Denver has no record of him, so he’s going to be my surrogate. I need Rube. I can use Rube. But you Merle, you’re just a pathetic waste of our disappearing oxygen.”
Merle glares at Rele for a moment then turns and trudges away, mumbling to his horse. Mocking him, Rele waves goodbye toward his back. As if on cue, Merle’s mustang whinnies, lifts it tail and begins depositing a trail of steaming, stinking horse apples.
“I don’t think his horse likes you.” Rube ventures.
“None of them
or their horses like me, but then I never considered their opinions important. And actually, I respect the honesty of his horse’s last statement more than his…and I hate horses. My last trek to Denver, I had to ride one of their horses. Threw me off and kicked me. Never riding any horse again. Main reason Sheriff got you.” Rele turns and starts walking toward the courthouse. “Let’s get you that clean uniform and I’ll get my equipment, so we can head out.”
“Should I get my weapons from my room? Bring them along?” Rube desires his weapons by his side whenever he enters an unfamiliar area.
“Sure, bring them along, if you want. Don’t expect that we’ll need them.” Rele shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve never touched them. Don’t know how to use them. Not planning to do any fighting, personally. I have other people do the fighting.”
Rele’s proffered uniform hugs Rube’s bigger body. Tight at his crotch and squeezing his chest, he struggles to climb inside his truck. He lays his loaded rifle and pistol next to his seat and then tugs against the door and doorframe to pull himself up and inside. Sitting and driving is painful.
“I can barely breathe in this.” Rube loosens his suit, as much as possible. “I hope this trip doesn’t take too long.”
“Oh, it’s about an hour and a half to the Greenly gate on the Denver Metrostate border. But, we’ll stop for a while at an outlier’s squat just beyond the Transition security zone.” Rele points northwest in the general direction of Greenly.
“So, is that where we get my seeds…in Greenly? It would be so great to start farming again.” Rube excitedly chirps.
Concerned with his own ambitions and only half listening to Rube, Rele scratches his right ear and frowns. “Seeds? Uh, what seeds? No seeds in Greenly.”
Rube pulls Sheriff’s writ from his pocket and shakes it. “Here in this writ, Sheriff says our mission is to bring back seeds to restart farming around here. Isn’t that why we need my truck…to haul them?”
“Oh yeah, seeds. There are seeds in Fort Collens.” Attempting to redirect Rube’s attention away from his seeds, Rele playfully tugs on Rube’s sleeve. “This outlier is an old friend of mine. He’ll have some Denver clothes for us, so we don’t attract any unnecessary attention once we’re inside.”
“We’re going into Denver? I’ve never been inside Denver.” Rube squirms out of the top section of his suit. Wearing just the pants, he is now able to breathe and drive, painlessly.
“Pull your top back on.” Rele tugs at his collar. “Until Denver, you’ll just have to suffer wearing my suit. Sheriff’s paranoid…convinced there’s spies in the skies…well, I think so too…but, anyway, Sheriff requires all knights and vassals wear these lined clothes to kill our body heat signature. Not certain it works, but it is Sheriff’s orders.”
If Sheriff demands it, Rube will faithfully comply. He covets Sheriff’s approval. With a grunt and a groan, he yanks the top section of his suit up and back onto his shoulders.
With Rube properly clothed, Rele slides down in his seat. He straightens his legs and stretches for comfort. “Actually, we’ll be conducting our business in the northern most sector of the Denver Metrostate. First we’ll make a short stop in Greenly to pick up some tools. But, my main interest…uh, our main interest is farther north on the Collens State University campus in the Fort Collens district.” That’s where you’ll find your precious seeds.”
Rube slows as he approaches a debris barricade establishing Fort Morghan’s western border. Feeling reassured about the ultimate goal of their mission, Rube returns to an alternative desire. “So, that’s not close to central Denver? I’ve always wanted to see Denver.”
Rele chuckles. “No, in the Fort Collens district, you’re almost seventy miles from the heart of the Metrostate, but the hyperloop express will get you there in five minutes. Still, I think it would be best for you to stay away from downtown Denver. You’d be lost there. You’re not prepared to leap that far into the future that fast. Best you stay with me, so I can guide you.”
At the edge of Fort Morghan, a sagging, half-collapsed, wood gate blocks the road. Rube stops and sounds his horn. Nothing. Nobody. Grumbling, he climbs from his truck to wrestle the gate out of his way. Rele never moves. Heaving, tugging, cursing and grunting, Rube drags the gate wide enough for his truck to exit. Swimming in grimy sweat, he maneuvers his truck through the gate, out of Fort Morghan and into the wastedlands.
“I imagine it is ok for you to leave that gate open.” Rele speculates. “Don’t think many people go through it. Didn’t look it to me, anyway.”
Inspecting the scratches and scrapes on his bare, sweat-covered arms and chest, Rube snipes sarcastically. “Really? You don’t say. Well you know, you just may be correct, since the gate was broken and buried in two inches of dirt. Of course, how could I expect you to notice that from your perch in here?”
“Hey, my labor is mental. Your labor is manual. I’m the brains. You’re the brawn. Get that straight!” Rele barks. “I’m in charge here. I am the brains…the creator. Sheriff is nothing…nothing without me. So, just drive. That’s why you’re here. A simple task for a simple mind. Just get this piece of antique junk and me to Greenly.”
GUARDIANS
Seething in silence, Rube guides his truck into the harsh barrenness. He bounces and rattles across a pitted, potholed, pavement patchwork. Winding along on his right side is the dry, dusty ditch that once was the shallow Platte River. Ahead and on his left, miles and miles of baked emptiness stretch away as far as Rube’s aching eyes can see.
“Is there no end to this hard, heartless country? Is all of Mid-North America this dead?” Rube wonders aloud.
“What you see is what you did. You killed this land. You did it, yourself.” Rele swings his arm left and right to include all of the desolate land surrounding them. “You and your fellow farmers destroyed it from ocean to ocean. All of you became wage slaves to one of the three multinational, agricultural mega-corporations controlling all of the world’s seeds, agrochemicals and pesticides.”
Rube silently grimaces in agreement. Bitter resentment begins boiling in his brain. He knows Rele’s accusations are accurate, because they haunt him and taunt him. Rube failed. He lost the family farm.
Rele jabs his finger into Rube’s shoulder. “Correct me if this isn’t true. When you still had your farm, did you borrow money every year to plant your crop? You bought your genetically modified seed and your fertilizer and your herbicides and your pesticides and your equipment and your fuel on credit. Right? Then you sold what you grew right back to a subsidiary of that same mega-agricorporation. Am I right?”
Reluctantly, Rube nods his head. “Had to…only way to keep farming. Keep farming to keep the farm. That was the rule. That was my life…nearly my death. And, I still lost my farm.”
Rele nods in agreement. “Yep, I imagine so. Every year you plowed yourself a little deeper into debt, or rather into the ground, until finally, you had buried yourself. The Elite…they conned you into doing exactly what they wanted, then they stole it all away from you. You weren’t a failure. You were their victim. Create profit by crushing people. That’s their game.”
“Everything…I lost everything.” Rube mutters sullenly. “It’s a nightmare that has plagued me…driven me close to insane…suicidal. I want to destroy them, just like they destroyed me.”
Rele smirks. “Don’t feel bad. You’re not alone. You’re just another victim of the oligarchic dictatorship led by the so-called, Society Preserving Endangered Agriculture that directs the three mega agricorporations controlling the world’s food. Well, most food…majority of its people, too. They feed the people, so they own the people. But, SPEA is more. They’re…”
Rube jolts aware. “SPEA! SPEA is no friend of mine. Wouldn’t sell me their seeds. Wouldn’t hire me. Wouldn’t help me. Just ignored me like I was worthless.”
Rele’s face suddenly erupts into uncontrollable spasms and facial tics. His left eye pulses and b
links rapidly. His nose scrunches and his head jerks to the right. Grabbing his jaw, he attempts to regain control of his nerves.
“St...st…stress! They’re after me, you know.” Holding his face, leaning forward, then left, then right, Rele examines the horizon. “I know too much…too much. I worked for SPEA…inside their organization. I’ve seen what they do. I know their secrets. So, they want to silence me…stop me…kill me.”
Rube leans away from Rele, startled and a little frightened by his deadly declaration. “Kill you! Who wants to kill you?”
“SPEA’s global cabal of the genetically-engineered, humanoid Elite. They’re the ones. Them…” Rele’s left eye twitches. He pauses, sucks in oxygen and exhales, loudly. …”they’re scheming to create a worldwide government of humanoid Elite from genetically designed humanoids. SPEA is growing them. Thirteen of them that I know about. Human engineered humans that will rule woman-born, natural-selection humans like you and me…we’re Naturals. But, we’re fighting back. Our battle to take back our country…our world…our return to ruling society has already begun.”
“Battle? What battle? I never heard of no battle.” Rube is growing alarmed about Rele’s increasing talk of violence. “Anybody killed?”
Rele gurgles. His head jerks. “No. No. Not that kind of battle. Right now, there are too few of us scattered around the world to fight them like that…you know…head to head. We are guaranteed to lose and that would be a stupid waste of resources. Never attack their strength. And thanks to the world being totally interconnected we don’t need to. Everyone is tied to everyone. Everything is tied to everything…internet of things. So, we attacked them where they are the most vulnerable…where they least expected it.”
“So, you did attack? You did have a battle?” Rube casts a sideway glance at the fidgeting, agitated Rele. He is confused. When they left Fort Morghan, he understood that they were traveling to Denver to obtain seeds, not fight a war. He wants to be a farmer not a fighter.
