by Siegel, Alex
The protesters were already beginning to gather. Some carried signs and others just looked angry. Tawni could tell the protest would turn ugly.
She tried to read the signs. Some showed animal rights slogans like "feed it, don't eat it" and "meat is murder." Another sign read, "think outside the bomb." A pink sign showed "bullies are turds" which was oddly out of place in this context.
One pattern did stand out. Most of the protestors were black. A huge portion of the population of Chicago was African-American, but they generally kept to their own neighborhoods. The cultural center of Chicago was an odd place to find such a high concentration.
Aaron knelt down in front of Wesley. "Use your gift. Tell me what's really going on."
"I don't want to." The boy shook his head.
"This is important."
"I swore I wouldn't. I'm trying to be a normal boy."
"I'm ordering you," Aaron said.
Wesley looked down. "There are some orders I can't follow, sir. I'm sorry."
Aaron stood up with an expression of disappointment.
"What are you talking about?" Tawni asked. "What gift?"
He looked at her. "Wesley sees the truth."
"I don't understand."
"It doesn't matter anyway. He's being stubborn. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way with eyeballs and brains. Stay close together."
Aaron continued to lead. He walked around the south side of the museum and entered a park. A belt of tall trees ran around the perimeter of the block. Some had leaves but most were still budding or bare. The center of the park was open, and clusters of protestors were gathering there.
He approached one group in particular. A bald man was standing on a wooden crate and giving a speech. About forty other people were listening.
"We're the real people of Chicago," the man yelled. His eyes bulged with anger. "We stock the shelves. We pick up the garbage. We stand behind the counters. This city runs on our sweat and blood. But do we get any respect? No! Those rich bastards drive in from the suburbs in their big, gas guzzling cars, and they act like they own us. They treat us like we're one inch tall. I'm tired of it. You're tired of it. Today it stops! We're going to scream until they hear our voices. This will be our city again! And if we can't have it, nobody can. We'll burn this stinking, corrupt place to the ground..."
Aaron walked away with a thoughtful expression. Wesley, Tawni, and Norbert followed in that order.
Aaron approached another man who had a white button-up shirt and plaid shorts. He wore sandals with socks, but the socks didn't match.
"Marxists and Mexicans are invading this country!" the man screamed hysterically. "And don't forget the Burmese pythons in Florida or the alien Japanese Kudzu. Our great nation is being overrun by freaks!"
Nobody was listening to his rant.
Smiling pleasantly, Aaron walked up to him and said, "Those are good points."
The man perked up when he saw he had an audience. "You understand me?"
"Sure. Kudzu is dangerous stuff."
"It can tear apart a bridge in a week!"
"Wow." Aaron furrowed his brow. "I had no idea."
Tawni didn't understand what he was doing. The guy in the shorts was clearly insane. What did Aaron hope to gain by humoring him?
The guy smiled. "I can tell you a lot more."
"I'll be happy to listen," Aaron said, "but do you mind answering a question first? When did you start getting this great information? When did you become interested in Kudzu?"
"My enlightenment started two months ago."
"What were you doing before that?"
"I was a plumber," the guy said. "I remember the night it happened. I saw a news report on TV about Zebra mussels in Lake Michigan. That's when I knew the world was in big trouble. I quit my job the next day."
"That's fascinating," Aaron replied with no hint of sarcasm in his voice. "What were you doing that night, exactly? Were you drinking? Was anybody visiting you? Did you eat unusual food?"
Tawni noticed Wesley had a very troubled expression. Norbert was frowning.
"No." The guy shook his head. "Just watching the news. I think I had a pot pie and a beer for dinner. Why do you care?"
"Did you see a strange light?"
"No. Of course, not."
Aaron leaned in. "There was nothing special about that night, other than your unexpected enlightenment?"
"It was just a regular shitty day at work. I came home. I was tired. Why? I want to talk about the conspiracy to control the price of gold. Our natural currency is being manipulated by the sovereign banks!"
"That's great. I should probably go. Keep up the good work."
Aaron swiftly walked away.
Tawni hurried to catch up to him. "Why were you talking to that nut ball? He was spewing garbage."
"I thought he was very informative actually."
She made a face. "Kudzu and Zebra mussels?"
"You have to pay more attention." Aaron stopped and turned. "Norbert, what did we just learn?"
Norbert stood tall. "Judging by the crowd, the phenomenon is obviously affecting a lot of people. I haven't seen any pattern of scars or other marks. The victims seem physically healthy. My first guess would be an environmental agent. Maybe a drug in the air, water, or food. The main symptom is overwhelming anger and anxiety, which the victims try to rationalize."
"That's very good." Aaron nodded.
"Thank you, sir." Norbert grinned.
"Wait!" Tawni said. "You think all these people are poisoned?"
"It's a possibility," Aaron said. "We'll find out one way or another."
She still couldn't figure him out. On one hand, his organization was violent, paranoid, and secretive, which made her think of mobsters. On the other hand, he didn't talk like a criminal. In fact, he seemed comfortable working with the police. The Gray Spear Society was most likely a secret government agency, but Charles' explanation had sounded religious.
Aaron faced south. "Damn," he muttered. "I guess the authorities decided to stop this protest before it really started. The O'Hare mess must've been a lesson learned."
Tawni looked in that direction. A line of cops in riot gear was moving towards her. The wall of plastic shields stretched all the way from Michigan Avenue to Columbus Drive. Patrol cars with flashing lights backed up the men on foot where pavement was available.
"Come on." Aaron headed north at a brisk walk.
Tawni followed, but she kept glancing over her shoulder. She expected the protestors in the park to scatter, but they stood their ground before the slowly approaching police.
"Stop," she said. "Let's see this."
He kept going. "That's not how you talk to your commander."
"Please, stop, sir."
Finally, he stopped. "Just for a minute. It's not safe here."
The cops reached the protestors and continued to push forward with their shields. The protestors tried to reach around and grab the men in blue. The cops responded by swinging nightsticks. Fights quickly broke out up and down the line.
"This is crazy," Tawni said. "Do they all want to get arrested?"
"They're obviously not thinking clearly," Aaron said. "We have to find the source of this madness."
There were hundreds of police officers, but they were already having trouble maintaining order. The protestors refused to back down and didn't seem to care if they were beaten.
Tawni heard many people screaming from the other direction. She turned and saw a wave of protestors running over to support their comrades. The angry mob was dense and coming fast. It was impossible to get out of its way.
Aaron and Norbert immediately moved in front of Wesley. The men settled into strong defensive stances.
"Shield Wesley with your body," Aaron ordered Tawni. "Now!"
She didn't like the boy, but some maternal instinct compelled her to comply. She got down on her knees and hugged Wesley tightly. He squirmed a little. She could feel his thick body armor
under his clothes.
The wave of protestors crashed into them. Aaron and Norbert fought back with their fists and feet. Tawni had seen some good martial artists in her day, but Aaron wasn't just good. He was a master. His punches landed with the force of a sledgehammer, and his kicks would've made the cut in a Hollywood action movie. For a big man, he had incredible agility. Who the hell is this guy? Tawni wondered.
Norbert's skills were inferior but not by much. His style was very similar to Aaron's, and the master-student relationship was apparent.
Tawni felt a painful tingling in her guts. She grimaced and clenched.
"What's wrong?" Wesley said.
"I must've eaten bad food."
"Is it a warm feeling? It hurts but in a good way?"
"Yeah." She stared into his perfect face. The color of his glistening eyes reminded her of sapphires.
"That's God's breath burning inside you. It means you're a true legionnaire."
The sensation made her want to fight beside Aaron. She had never felt this strong before. Wesley's explanation sounded ludicrous, but she almost believed it.
The wave of protestors left them behind. Aaron and Norbert were surrounded by moaning and unconscious bodies. Tawni didn't see any critical injuries though.
"Move!" Aaron yelled. "Back to the van!"
He and his team ran towards the parking garage. Tawni glanced back. The confrontation between the police and the protestors had turned into a full scale riot.
More patrol cars were arriving from the north and west. A few officers were riding on horses or bicycles. It seemed like sirens were everywhere.
Aaron picked up the pace, and Tawni had a hard time keeping up. Her body armor felt like it was made of lead. She was soon gasping for breath. The rest of the team was obviously in much better condition than her. Even the boy was running quickly without apparent effort.
They turned onto East Adams. Tawni's legs were so tired she almost tripped and fell.
"Stop!" she pleaded. "Please!"
Aaron looked back. "Get in the coffee shop."
The team hurried into a nearby coffee shop. Tawni was so winded she couldn't even speak, and everybody else just stood and watched her. She wasn't accustomed to thinking of herself as the weak and slow member of the team. She hated the feeling.
"Your training will include a lot of aerobics," Aaron said.
She nodded. It was hard to argue with him under the circumstances.
All the customers in the coffee shop were standing by the windows. He joined them and looked out at the street. Norbert hovered over Wesley like a father protecting his son. Despite everything, Tawni was starting to like the man. His round face was pleasant to look at, and his compassion seemed sincere.
Aaron stepped away from the crowd and took out his gray phone. He made a call.
"What's the deal with the phones?" Tawni asked Norbert. "Why are they so big?"
"You'll get one just like it. They're waterproof and armor plated. They work on any network in the world. They have redundant location systems, navigation, and an emergency beacon. The list of features goes on and on."
"How much do they cost?"
Norbert shrugged. "I don't know. A lot, I expect. They're custom built. Of course, you won't have to pay for it."
"Cool. I just wish they weren't so ugly. That reminds me. What's my salary?"
"The Society takes care of its members. If you need something, you'll get it, but we're not actually paid."
She bristled. "Slaves get taken care of. Free people are compensated for their work."
"Have that conversation with Aaron. I'm just telling you how it is."
Aaron came back over. "The roads to the west are clear. Ready to go?"
Tawni nodded. "Where are we going?"
"My headquarters. I'll give you the grand tour and the introduction speech when we get there. I'll try to answer all your questions."
It's about fucking time, she thought.
Chapter Five
Roger Gains sat in his comfortable chair and watched the news coverage of the riot. It was the finest entertainment he could imagine. Each new scene of destruction made him moan with pleasure.
Everything was going according to plan.
He decided it was dinner time. The riot promised to be a long one, so it made sense to eat while he watched.
He stood up and stretched his arms. Gains' living room was entirely white. The walls, the furniture, the carpet, and the fixtures had no color whatsoever. Special light bulbs cast broad spectrum light that made everything look even whiter. There were no windows, so he didn't have to see the dingy colors of the outside world.
He heard the ventilation system turn on. The air in the room was filtered, cleansed, oxygenated, and recycled. It was a closed system originally designed for use on spacecraft. He had literally breathed the same air for years. There was no possibility of contamination from the outside.
He walked into the kitchen which was just as white as the living room. He opened the large freezer. It contained hundreds of identical white boxes about ten inches square and two inches tall. He grabbed one of the boxes at random and closed the freezer. It didn't matter which one he chose. He put the box in a microwave and set the timer for two minutes.
While he waited, he inspected the kitchen for dirt. The white plastic counters looked pristine. There was no dust, of course. The air in his apartment was clean enough for a microchip factory. He spotted a tiny crack in the paint on the wall. That was going to be a problem. The kitchen would have to be repainted, and then the entire place would have to be sterilized. While that was happening, he would be forced to live in his safe room. He shook his head with annoyance.
He filled a tall glass with water and checked it for cleanliness. Like the air, all the water was recycled. After it left his body, it was filtered, triple distilled, and returned to his body. He didn't want anybody else's water inside him.
The microwave beeped. He took the box out and went back to the living room. There was only one chair. He sat down, placed the food on a small table, and opened the box.
Gains' meal consisted of small bricks of pureed, pasteurized, dried food that were uniform in color and consistency. Eating was an ongoing issue in his life. It was impractical to recycle food, although he had thoroughly investigated the possibility. He settled for eating the minimum amount required to remain healthy.
A speaker was built into the table. A pleasant female voice said, "Mr. Gains, Dr. Rascher just arrived."
Gains smiled a little. "Send him down immediately."
"Yes, sir."
An air-tight glass partition separated the living room into two sections. Gains lived on one side and visitors stood on the other. The glass was bulletproof, of course. Automatic guns were set to kill anybody who touched the surface.
A few minutes later, Dr. Ernie Rascher arrived. Long, white hair covered the back of his head, but the front and top were completely bald. A neatly trimmed mustache still had some brown in it. He was short and a little pudgy. Big ears gave him a slightly goofy appearance, but his green eyes were completely serious. Gains had never seen him smile. He wore an informal brown suit appropriate for an academic man.
"I was just watching the news coverage," Gains said. "Things are going well."
"I have to disagree, sir." Rascher's voice came through an intercom system. "The results are still too uneven. Some subjects are getting too strong a dosage, and some aren't getting enough. Signal degradation continues to be a major issue. We may have to reexamine our choice of delivery mechanism."
Gains shook his head. "That would cost us months. I'm not that patient. There is no good reason to think the existing plan won't succeed after we've come this far. We just have to fine tune the technology a little. You always expect a few bumps in the road with this kind of project."
"Yes, sir. I'll continue my research."
"Would more money help?"
Rascher shrugged. "It might. My biggest probl
em is test subjects. It's difficult to keep the larder full, so to speak. We can't just grab random people off the streets. We have to find subjects who won't be missed right away, and even in a big city like Chicago, that's difficult. Many experiments require freshly caught subjects. Disposing of the bodies is also troublesome."
"I thought we had an arrangement with the sanitation people," Gains said.
"Yes, but they always want more money. They're greedy and stupid, and I hate dealing with them."
Gains frowned. "I'll look into it."
"Thank you. Are you making any progress on the manufacturing?" Rascher said.
"I found a factory in Singapore that can do the work. I know the owner personally and I trust him. He claims he can build two hundred units a month."
"That doesn't seem like enough. We'll need thousands."
"I can't push too hard. Questions might get asked. We have to make do with what we can get."
"I understand." Rascher nodded. "You're looking a little thin, sir. Have you been eating enough?"
Gains looked down. He wore plain white tights that showed the exact shape of his body. The bones of his hips and ribs were prominent.
"I suppose a few more calories per day wouldn't hurt," he said. "I'm at 1400 now."
"That seems very low to me. I suggest 1800. You'll feel better."
"Too risky. I'll bump it up to 1600."
"I'm sure you know best," Rascher said. "Is that all? I should get back to my facility. I have so much to do."
"Thanks for coming," Gains said. "I know it was a long drive. Too often these days, you're just a voice on the phone. I wanted to congratulate you in person for your excellent work. You should be very proud."
"And thank you for the opportunity to fulfill my dreams. Good bye."
Rascher bowed politely and left.
* * *
Tawni looked up at the Rosemont Tower Hotel. The exterior glass was a shiny brown color that reminded her of a new penny. It seemed about twenty stories tall, but it was hard to tell for sure. The surface was entirely smooth and dark, creating a rectangular box that prevented anybody from peeking inside.
"It's a hotel," she said.
