“You’re telling me you’re a SCRID . . .”
“Right.”
“Do you know what ‘scrid’ refers to?”
“What?”
“It’s the name for that little stretch of skin between your nutsack and your ass.”
The wasp robot hesitated for a minute, processing.
“You are full of feces,” it said. “There is no such meaning in my databanks.”
“Street lingo. Do your databanks include urban slang?”
“Of course not. What would be the use for that? Extra verbiage would stall the efficiency of the GINKS system.”
“Whatever,” Zach said, furrowing his brow. He sighed and looked away, out the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I have been tracking you this whole time,” the insect-bot replied with cheer. “Ever since they took you away for the initial treatment. You recall how we were originally attacked?”
“No,” Zach said, still looking out the window. “I do not.”
“I see,” the bot chirped. “So, it goes without saying that you do not remember me at all.”
“I don’t remember most of the insects I encounter, little guy. Nothing personal.”
“I am not an insect, remember? I am a police bot, SCRID model.”
“We’ve established that,” Zach said, smirking. He returned his gaze to the bot.
“I am a New York City Police bot. Are you following anything I am saying here?”
“Okay, I’ll play along. What’s your name, Mr. Scrid?”
“The name is, wait for it . . . Chief Anthony Borgnine!”
Zachary appeared not to react at all, but the close observer would notice that he immediately ceased to be clever.
“IPF/USA,55” Borgnine continued.
Zach’s head tilted a bit to the right. Where had he heard that name before? Seriously, what was going on here? Zachary pondered all this and more as Borgy patiently whirred in the air next to him, then landed softly on the wall by Zachary’s head.
“Okay, then,” Zachary said. “I guess I might have a couple of questions after all.”
“Great, glad to help. Fire away.”
“How did I get all metal-y?”
“You are now forty-seven percent organic materials, including blood, H2O, naturally-occurring chemicals, skin, and other bio-matter. The other fifty-three percent consists of various metal alloys, advanced optics, carbon fibers, manmade chemical lubricants, and nanobots/nano-communications devices.”
“Am I allowed to ask you questions about your answers? ‘Cause I’m not sure I understood anything you just said. I’m not a scientist. As I guess you already know, I’m a literary agent, whatever that is,” Zach said. “Hey, I just remembered my job!”
“Good. Your memory is returning. So, as to what I just articulated: the take-away here is that you are less than half human, and more than half robot.”
“Ah, I get it . . . not really.”
“You remember the ancient 2D ‘film stories’ about the robot police officer56?
“Robocop, you mean? Sure. My grandfather was a big fan. Of the original, at least.”
“Well, there you go. You are kind of that way. Only with much, much superior tech.”
“Superior tech? Cool.”
“Yeah, you can float like a butterfly—”
“Already experienced that, just today, in fact.”
“And sting like a bee.”
“Sounds unfriendly.”
“Just means you have a little bite to your bark. But also that you can maneuver well. Unlike Robocops 1, 2, or 3, who were pretty stiff and robotic.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Yes, very good.”
“So, then, my next question.”
“Let’s have it.”
“How did I get put together in this way?”
“A team of the best scientists and surgeons from around the globe came together to bring you back from the dead. To make you better than you were.”
“That was nice of them. Any reason they were being so kind?”
“You were the perfect specimen—I mean, opportunity. Right place at the right time. Much of your system had failed. But the parts that had collapsed—your spine, your nervous system, parts of your brain—these happened to be their areas of expertise. And, well frankly, you were as good as dead anyway. Thus, you provided them with a test subject they would not have had otherwise.”
“That was good luck for yours truly, then, wouldn’t you say?” Zachary waited for an answer while the insect version of Chief Borgnine was uncharacteristically quiet.
After a moment of silence, the insect buzzed. “Can you handle the truth?”
“Yes, be honest.”
“I would not really classify it as ‘good’ luck,” the bug stated. “Look, citizen. They gave you less than a 10.0013% chance of surviving. See, every one of the systems installed inside and outside of your body are experimental. ‘Beyond the bleeding edge,’ as they used to say back in the ancient times. The odds of every single one of these systems not only working, but working well and in tandem with all of the other systems . . . Well, the odds are astronomical. 1 in 1010,000 to be exact. Roughly exact anyway.”
Zachary Zemeritus was quiet again, lying still as he thought about all this.
“I shouldn’t be here, alive I mean, should I?” he said, staring at the ceiling.
“Technically, no,” Borgnine said. “Just a moment. I am registering sadness from you, Patient ‘Z.’ Stand by while I activate my sympathy routine. Activated. You will be fine. You are special. Tomorrow is a new day. It is when the sun will emerge once again. Bet a dollar bill located in the bottommost position.”
Zach said nothing. He was thinking about Mallory again, remembering her as if seeing her shadow against the wall. He had a strong sensation that she was in serious danger. He needed to leave, to find her. To save her. Wherever she was.
“What you have experienced,” the little bug droned on, “is the paradox known as the ‘scientific miracle.’ You beat the odds. You should be glad to be alive.”
Zach hesitated, trying to form the right words. “I think I am,” he said. “But I can’t help wondering what went so right—and why.”
“We do not know. We refer to it, in these circumstances, as one of two possibilities.”
“And those are . . . ?”
“The first could be what is categorized as God’s help, or ‘DI,’57 as it is known in scientific circles.”
“God’s help? Not sure I buy that. What’s the second?”
“The second would be God’s will, or ‘WOG,’58for short.”
“I see,” Zachary said, not getting it. He scratched at one of the metallic areas in his skull with one of his steel fingers while he tried to take in all of this new information. “Not sure there’s a difference. . .”
“Between DI and WOG? Are you serious? DI is ‘now,’ and typically a one-time-only special deal. The other, WOG, is ‘always has been,’ or if you translate directly from the Hebrew, ‘there can be no other outcome.’ These are totally different temporal modes.”
“If you say so.” The room was quiet for a few minutes. “Well,” Zach said after an interlude. “What’s next”?
“Next?”
“Well, Scrid Borgnine, why was I chosen? Why did I survive? What is my purpose? Why am I here?”
“GOK,” Borgy said.
“GOK?” Zach asked, one eyebrow raised.
“God Only Knows.”
GEARING UP
“Before they get back,” Dani said, “we need to be ready for ‘em. Do you think we can hurt them by just shooting willy-nilly into their chests or chins or anything?”
“I guess so,” said Helena.
“No. The answer is no, no we can’t. What this requires is careful targeting. Let me ask you a question: What, in your opinion, is the most vulnerable point on a demon from outer space’s body?”
“I don’t know. . ..”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Dani scrunched her face in disappointment. “Think about it. Use your womanly mind powers.”
“Okay, um, I don’t know. . .” said Helena. “Their stringy, slimy necks, maybe?”
“No, no, really think about it. Think like a girl. A bad girl.”
“I don’t know, Dani. Just tell me.”
“It’s their dicks! That’s what we need to aim for. Shoot for their junk!”
“Brilliant,” Helena said, smiling. “Sounds fun, too.”
“Maybe it’s brilliant,” Dani said, looking somber again. “Maybe it isn’t. Who knows? Could be they be some sort of space armadillos or something, with their junk encased in a kind of clear armor. Maybe we just can’t see it, with our weak, Earthling eyes.”
“What do we do then?” Helena asks.
“Go for the eyes, would be my next guess,” Dani said. “Just as soft and vulnerable.”
“I’m psyched now!” Helena said, laughing. “Well, if we don’t die, this could be a very satisfying shooting event.”
“You need to understand, though, to truly understand what I’m about to say,” Dani said, “that if neither of these targets are as vulnerable as they appear, we are screwed.”
“I get that. We may die trying,” she said, “but we aren’t going down without a fight.”
“That’s the truth.”
The two girls hugged and held each other for a minute, silently praying for guidance, for strength, and for deliverance. They had never felt so brave in their lives. Or so freakin’ scared.
The world found it easy to believe in God, but even easier to believe in the Devil, in demons. But when it came down to living everyday life as if something beyond today or tomorrow or next week mattered, very few humans found that they could do that. So even now, with one of the largest cities in the world—the known solar system for that matter—overrun by demons from beyond the sun, people lived in fear. But only in personal fear. Afraid that the things dear to them might be taken away. Few looked at the bigger picture: what did it all mean? What could they do to help? Why were these demons here, now?
One entity that was taking personal responsibility was the US Armed Forces. Central Park Air Force Base, CP-AFB, once known simply as New York’s Central Park, was about to open officially. The Joint Presidents had arrived.59
This term, the three presidents were President Jacelyn Williams, Republican from Texas; President Rodrigo Hernandez, Democrat from Arizona; and President Ralph Smith, Flat Tax Green Party representative from New York State.60
The two First Ladies and one First Husband, and the three vice presidents arrived in Manhattan with them on the triple-decker Air Force 2. However, the official opening of the base had been delayed twenty-four hours while last minute touches were applied to some of the electric and security systems.
Once the base was ready to go, Operation Deal with the Devil (or ODD) would commence. In the meantime, the planning continued behind closed doors at the Pentagon.61 The Pentagon was not used to dealing with a target like this one. There had already been many attempted strikes with ground-to-air missiles, machine guns, and jets. However, the creatures moved too quickly and seemed to anticipate every attack.
So far, though, the armed forces had not been able to touch these creatures. In addition to their sophisticated maneuvering, the damn things just wouldn’t stay put long enough to be dealt with. Therefore, this precluded the option of hand-to-hand combat or other ground-based offensive opportunities. Basically, it was trying to kills gnats with a bazooka. So far, the gnats were winning. Nevertheless, the best minds at the Pentagon figured to change all that. They had an elaborate set of plans that involved some unorthodox techniques, never before tried in the battlefield by the warfighter.
“That’s only because we are dealing with a very different type of enemy here,” said General Manny Ferrari of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “They just aren’t responding to our current methods. Just as how we had to invent a whole new way of fighting worldwide terrorism all those years ago. A style that ultimately excluded weapons of any kind except the powers of our minds. With these demons, these things from Hades, we must develop a new style of fighting, too. A brand new philosophy for winning. One that gets these bastards where they live. Then, we can eradicate them the way an exterminator eradicates termites from a rotted house.”
Patty Patty was still unconscious, and everyone feared the worst. She might be in a coma. There was no medical equipment down in Hell, so they had nothing to examine her with, nothing to monitor her systems.
“She looks too pale,” Helena said, standing over her.
The group had managed, by forming a kind of human pyramid, to extract both Patty Patty and Timmy Jimmy from their hooks and lower them to the ground while Helena and Dani had been cleaning, polishing, and loading their small weapons.
“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Dani said. “The skin around her eyes seems ashy.”
The group had risked everything taking these two down from the hooks where they’d been left to die. The demons would be furious when they returned. It was assumed that Patty Patty and Timmy Jimmy had been left hanging there either to receive additional punishment or to be killed—killed and most likely eaten. When the demon crew saw that they were no longer hanging on the hooks where they’d left them, it was inevitable that the creatures would then take their anger out on the group as a whole.
But the people in this deep basement hell almost no longer cared. They knew no one could rescue them now. Their one and only plan had failed; they were doomed. Better to go out trying to help each other than just lying down to die.
Dani found a few other rotting pieces of clothing and, with great care, arranged them on top of Patty Patty. Then she knelt down next to her and stroked the girl’s hair. She took her hand and felt for a pulse. Patty Patty’s hand was ice cold, but there was a tiny pulse still there—slow and weak, but still there.
Dani pivoted on her back foot and faced Timmy Jimmy, who laid cold and still just a couple of feet from the little girl. He also looked dead, pale and wrecked as a corpse. His hair was matted with blood and dirt and rotten things. He didn’t move. Dani lifted his hand next and squeezed for a pulse. His pulse was meager, almost missing. Tears filled her eyes, and a heavy sadness filled her chest. She knew these two would not survive what had happened to them, not without getting to a hospital.
Despite the tattoo on her forearm of the head of Christ, complete with golden halo, and the tattoo of the Virgin Mary holding the Baby Jesus in her arms etched on her sternum just above her cleavage, Dani Pistachio did not believe in miracles. She hadn’t seen any in her life, just everyone on a slow struggle against their inevitable death. Either dying young or dying old, from natural causes or everything else.
All Dani had ever seen were people dying all around her. Her mother from cervical cancer at forty-six, her brother a year later from a bullet in his brain during a “typical” robbery, her dad three years later from driving while drinking.
Two of her friends from drug overdoses. Another took her own life by jumping from a bridge. The bridge she dove off wasn’t so high that the fall into the Hudson would have killed her all by itself. As fate would have it, her friend Jacki had the additional unfortunate bad luck of landing headfirst on the deck of a passing boat, snapping her spinal column.
Her best friend in her TG support group, Lucy Marie, stepped in front of a downtown bus in the middle of a bright sunny day in December, just last year. Dani still wasn’t sure if that was a tragic accident or a tragic suicide.
None of that mattered anymore. The departed were the lucky ones, no longer around to see what was going on here on planet Earth these days. No longer around to die in ways unimaginable. Dani stood by the two victims on the floor and shook her head.
Martin Beemer was on the can when the monsters from another galaxy burst through the walls of his apartment.
“THOU HATH FAILED US, LITTLE MAN. SAY YO
UR PRAYERS.”
Martin Beemer, halfway into the process he was engaged in, found himself unable to stand up or run.
He couldn’t move.
They drove him through the toilet and into the pipe with a single blow. Martin Beemer collapsed like an upside-down umbrella and was jammed further and further into the waste pipe with each subsequent blow.
He was full of shit as he died, just as he was when he was living.
BATTLE
“It doesn’t look good, Helena,” Dani said, wiping a tear off her cheek with her gun hand. She checked the safety again to be sure it was off, then rechecked the barrel to be sure it was loaded. “Okay, you freakin’ bastards,” she said, mostly to herself. “Get back here already. It’s time to get what’s coming to you.”
No sooner had these words left Dani’s lips than the room began to shake, cement dust drifting down from the ceiling like bizarro Christmas snow. She heard the creatures now, in the tube and next in the tunnel. Soon, they would be here in the great room, picking victims, having their way, doing what they did.
Three of the beasts swooped in: “Rocks” Manzer, Def C., and the “girl” one, Anguigena “Angie” Caprigenus. They cackled like drunken witches. Then, at the sight of Patty Patty and Timmy Jimmy lying prone on the floor, they stopped their cheerful interplay.
The three demons descended to the ground and stood there over Timmy Jimmy and Patty Patty, outraged and just a few yards from the group. Def C—fire exploding out of his two noses, his four ears, and two of his three buttholes—thundered the following:
“WHO HAS DONE THIS?!”
Dani kept her gun hidden behind her back, finger on the trigger. Helena did the same. Dani tried to keep from smiling. She felt frightened, but excited, too. There would be no better opportunity. No cleaner shot. No finer use of the element of surprise.
“Now,” Dani said to Helena through gritted teeth.
DEMON DAYS: Love, sex, death, and dark humor. This book has it all. Plus robots. Page 10
