But what if Peters was right? What if this was the beginning of a new career for Nathan? To have his name spoken of in the same sentence as Doctor Stem – to have thousands of people turn out to hear Nathan's take on the Puke situation – it could be the beginning of something big. Celebrity, money, position. Perhaps even a run for political office? There was no denying that Nathan had struck a chord with the American people. Jude had handled things well. Nathan's face was everywhere, and he was setting the tone for the national discussion of the terrorist attack at Westlake.
And Nathan still had his ace in the hole. At the right moment, he could whip out the identity of the mad bomber and send the cops to his exact location. Elder Tull had to be hiding out at the Candy Kitchen. Where else could he have gone? If he'd been at the old apartment, the police would have picked him up in a sweep before the second bombing. No, the Prime Administrator's little fortress was the best place to run to when the world was collapsing around your ears, and that bomb in the square had the Prime Administrator written all over it. Yeah, Elder Tull and the others would be waiting at the Candy Kitchen for the police when Nathan decided it was time to have them picked up.
Nathan would be a hero on top of everything else.
But he'd have to do something about Peters. Once Elder and the others were swept up, he wouldn't need the Big U goon squad to keep him safe anymore. And he didn't need Peters to do his press – his press could take care of itself. He could go back to Jude...
No, Nathan thought, he didn't need her, either. He didn't need Arnold and his city goons to keep him safe. And Peters was right: after the press coverage of this evening hit, Nathan would be so much bigger than any little, fake biography Jude had in the pipe. What good was she to Nathan? None. Just another whiny hanger-on.
He'd play along with Peters for now, but the time was fast approaching for Nathan to make a play himself.
#
In the small room behind the half-hidden door, Elder found a coat rack full of usher's jackets. He slipped his off and pulled on one of the garish, red affairs. It hid his shoulder holster acceptably. He quickly dodged back out the door.
Out again amongst the crowd, Elder tried to play his new role: from James Bond to obedient usher, he gently encouraged the slowly moving crowd to find their seats. Elder took the grand staircase up toward the balcony, stopping to help a few couples check their tickets. Whether the directions Elder gave them were any help, he had no idea, but he had sounded authoritative.
On the balcony, Elder let himself through a door marked 'private' and hopped up a short flight of stairs, taking him higher into the building. He was away from the lush comfort of the public Opera House now, and the corridors were stark white and businesslike. From his memory of the blue prints, Elder followed the halls, past quiet, unoccupied offices, until he came to an unremarkable-looking door with security glass comprising its upper half.
Elder moved towards it quietly, keeping low and out of sight. Peaking through the glass, he saw the control room for the auditorium: a large bank of computers and control boards flashing softly in the gloom.
Three figures sat at the control boards. The man in the center gave a gesture to the woman sitting to his right, and the houselights of the auditorium began to dim. He made a second gesture to the man sitting to his left, and a prerecorded message to turn off all cell phones began to play. Elder lowered himself down and rested up against the closed door. He dug around in his pocket for his Bluetooth headset, attaching it to his ear.
"Prime," Elder whispered. "Prime, are you there?"
"Yep," Prime's voice came over the ear bud.
"I'm in position."
"Understood. What's it look like?"
"Lights. Sound. And a stage manager," Elder relayed. He took his pistol out of its holster, along with something wrapped in brown paper out of his pants pocket. "Shouldn't be a problem."
"Good Luck," Prime said. "I'll pass the word to those on the floor."
"Okay," Elder clicked off his Bluetooth. He checked the breach of his pistol, making sure it was loaded. Satisfied, he rested the gun on his lap and unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a chunk of unleavened bread. He munched away with satisfaction as the sound of applause rose up from the auditorium below.
#
The thunder of applause and the explosion of spotlights temporarily stunned Nathan. He hadn't expected such a reaction to the moment he stepped out onto the stage. He automatically looked over his shoulder, wondering who the crowd was cheering for. He realized it was him. Suddenly, all the posturing and maneuvering began to make sense. Not until he finally came face-to-face with his celebrity did Nathan truly understand the actions of those around him. He was a star, a media darling for doing... well, nothing... for being the last Puke modified.
Nathan found his assigned seat at the podium, the spotlights still glaring.
The welcome for Nathan had been warm, but the standing ovation for Doctor Raul brought down the house. As the small, gray-haired man stepped spryly out onto the stage, the whole auditorium rose to its feet, cheering. In the span of thirty seconds, Nathan had both come to terms with the extent of his own celebrity, and then seen it eclipsed by a true megastar. Nathan couldn't help but applaud along with everyone at the sheer force of Doctor Raul's personality.
The minor, local celebrity came out of the wings with a microphone and took a position center stage. He motioned for the audience to return to their seats, and slowly the applause died away.
"Thank you, thank you all! What a warm welcome!" the MC began. "You love me, you really love me!" He bowed, the audience tittered at his joke. "No, seriously, thank you all. It's wonderful to see such an excellent turnout, this evening, for this once-in-a-lifetime event. And on a school night, too." Chuckles. "Seriously, I'd like to thank the Chamber of Commerce for hosting this event. We are blessed this evening to have here in Seattle the incomparable Doctor Nolan Raul!" Applause. The MC turned to the podium and bowed to the Doctor. "Sir, it is the greatest of honors."
The MC turned back to the audience, taking up the microphone again. "Now, amongst the Doctor's incalculable achievements, he has to his credit the distinction of being the first man in history to be implanted with his very own invention: the Whole Life Interface." More applause. "To the Doctor's right we have his very opposite number. A man who, just two weeks ago, had adamantly resisted the inextricable shift of history. Known to the media as The Last Puke, Nathan Pope!" A swell of applause. Nathan stood and waved. "Yes, the Alpha and Omega of the WLI. Two unique and contrasting perspectives on the current crisis this fair city is facing."
The MC's tone turned solemn. "I hope you will all join me in a moment of silence for those who lost their lives in the terrible events last week in our wonderful city. To those who were killed by the blast in Westlake Square, and those law enforcement officers who died in the line of duty doing the great work of our Government, sacrificing all to serve and protect the citizens of this great nation."
The hall fell into silence as heads bowed in respect.
"Now," the MC's voice broke the stillness. "You've all heard enough from me!" Titters of laughter. "So, without further adieu, I will hand the microphone over to our guest of honor, Doctor Nolan Raul!"
A resurgence of applause filled the auditorium as Dr. Raul rose to feet. The applause sustained, delaying the proceedings for a solid three minutes.
"Thank you, thank you," Dr. Raul attempted to quiet the crowd, waving his arms. When the crowd finally fell quiet, the Doctor continued. "I am very grateful for such a warm welcome." The Doctor spoke with an unspecific, but foreign accent. "In these trying times, it is heartwarming to see such solidarity. That you all would come out this evening is an act of personal bravery on the part of each and every one of you. Again, my most heartfelt thanks to you all."
The crowd again erupted into a cacophony of hoots and whistles. Nathan couldn't resist the energy that filled the room. He applauded right along, adding a few of
his own cheers. The power the Doctor commanded over the room was stunning.
"Now," the Doctor continued, once the crowd had again found its seats. "I have been asked by many to speak to the event that took place here in Seattle, in your Westlake Square, no less than a week prior. I want to take this opportunity to condemn the terrorist attack most strongly, and call for the capture, trial and execution of all those responsible for such a heinous act." This was met with brief but agreeable applause. "But, as a physician, a man of science, it is incumbent on me to look at such events dispassionately.
"I will make no illusion that such a task is an easy one for me to undertake. With the wounds of the assault still so fresh, it is hard to speak coldly, analytically about the dire conditions of the unmodified in our society. But I believe that it is important for us all do so – attempt to rein in our passions and consider all the factors that contributed to the horrific events of this past week..."
#
"Wait, I want to hear this," Eydie's voice came over Elder's Bluetooth. Elder was paused, gun raised, with the handle of the control room door half-turned. He stumbled a little, trying to remain completely silent.
"What's he saying?" Prime's voice said in Elder's ear.
"Shh," Eydie signaled. She was listening. Elder strained to hear Doctor Raul's voice through the walls of the auditorium, but the amplification was too muffled to understand. "I think he's..." Eydie continued. "I think he's saying that the Stems might be at some fault..."
There was silence. Voices murmured in Elder's ear bud. The duct tape holding the payload against Elder's flesh was beginning to itch. He was almost prostrate on the sparsely carpeted hallway floor, holding the handgun in his left hand. He felt exposed, impatient to get on with his assigned task.
"Well?" Elder asked. "Are we aborting?" Silence. "Shit, someone say something..."
#
"...But all this being said, it is always easy to question the actions of those in power. To play armchair general, and to second-guess the decisions of those who are forced by reality to act quickly for the greater good of all. I will be no such armchair general, today or any other day. I will state my apprehensions at the actions of our Government, but I will not denounce them, for I have not walked a mile in the shoes of those I choose to criticize.
"So I reiterate: while the actions of the State might have been regrettable, the full nature of the measures taken must be contrasted with the minority nature of those targeted by the seizures. That the ideas of this small group of holdouts contrast so acutely with the will of the great expanse of humanity potentially indicates that no fair, measured solution would have sufficiently dealt with the problem. That their numbers are so few, and their beliefs are so extreme, inevitably dictate that their ideology would end in an act of violence."
Chapter 22
"Fuck it," Eydie's voice finally came over the Bluetooth. "This is bullshit. Do it."
Almost with relief, Elder Tull turned the door's handle. He pulled himself upright and stepped into the room, attracting no attention from its three occupants.
"Spot 4, go to 70 in 4, 3, 2 ..." the stage manager said. He cocked a finger, like a gun, and shot it at the lighting tech. When his thumb hammer fell, he said: "Now..."
While the lighting tech pushed a slider forward on her control board, Elder cocked his gun at the stage manager's head.
"Move and you're fucking dead," Elder said, trying to keep the hand holding the gun steady. The stage manager looked up in terror, right down the barrel of the black handgun. His hands came up, palms forward, still making pistols with his fingers. The lighting tech let out a small scream.
With his freehand, Elder began to unbutton his shirt.
"What– What do you want?" the stage manager asked, unable to take his eyes off the gun.
"Here." Elder winced in pain as he pulled something out from under his shirt, ripping a strip of hair free from his skin. The payload emerged and Elder held out a small, black rectangle still wrapped in the silver tape.
"What the fuck?" the stage manager said to the sweaty black rectangle, almost in tears. "What's that?"
Elder gestured at the ceiling of the control room with the nozzle of his gun.
"What?" The Manager looked up at the ceiling tiles.
"Just–" Elder realized he wasn't making himself clear. "Just– Ah, fuck." Elder pushed the stage manager aside, sending his chair rolling into the sound tech. Elder slapped the black block down on the control panel and began to fumble with wires.
"What are you... doing?" the lighting tech asked. Elder turned to face her with the pistol. Her hands instantly flew into the air.
Elder turned back to his payload. "What's this?" Elder held up a wire protruding from the control panel. "Anyone?" He waved the gun in a circle.
"Um, firewire?" the terrified sound tech offered.
"Firewire? What sort of connector is this?" Elder held up the wire.
"Shit, I don't know!"
Elder pulled the offending cable completely out of the control panel and tossed it over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and came back with a small, coiled cable. He began to attach it to the panel.
"Is that some sort of bomb?" the lighting tech asked.
Elder laughed. He'd being waiting to be fed that line all week. He'd been practicing his response in the mirror back at the Candy Kitchen. "It'll blow your mind!" he said theatrically, bobbing his head to an unheard beat.
It had sounded better in the bathroom.
"Oh, it's da bomb..." he tried.
No, it was too late. Now he just sounded crazy.
He tied the control panel into the sweaty black block and a bank of lights under the duct tape began to flash. The device emitted a soft whir, and Elder stepped back in triumph.
"Okay, ready in the control room," he said to his Bluetooth.
"It is a bomb!" the stage manager realized, jumping to his feet. Elder swung out with the butt of his gun and connected with the bridge of the stage manager's nose.
"Oh, it's da bomb!" Elder tried again.
No, still sounded crazy...
#
"Okay, ready in the control room," Eydie heard Elder say through her ear bud. She reached down under her seat for her purse and came up with a small, silver smart phone. She flicked it awake with her thumb, to the disapproving glances of her neighbors, and checked the time. From the menu, she opened a plain-looking, custom application written by Prime. Quickly, her screen began to fill with a jumble of indecipherable text.
"Ready, Prime?" she asked her ear bud. A thin woman wearing far too much mascara shushed her.
"Ready," Prime's voice came back. "I've got green on the dongle. Green on your console. At your discretion, my lady..."
"Then let the games begin," Eydie said, tapping at her phone.
#
Nathan's first clue that the evening had taken a strange turn came when the spotlights cut out. They'd been continuously beaming into his eyes, blinding him. All though Dr. Raul's speech, he'd been fighting the urge to shade his eyes with his hand. He kept blinking instead, occasionally wiping a tear from his eyes.
But all at once, the spotlights dimmed. The stage was bathed in darkness. Dr. Raul faltered mid-sentence, looking up toward the control room of the auditorium. A murmur of concern rose from the audience.
Then, a single light from the rear of the auditorium illuminated the stage. It was painfully bright, more than just a spotlight. Nathan threw up a hand to protect his eyes and turned away from the blinding glare. Through the dancing spots in front of his eyes, he began to make out images being projected against the projection screen behind him: dancing shapes, letters.
Then the music began.
#
The two million lumen projector above the control room was delivering Eydie's 'payload' for all the auditorium to see. Her multimedia presentation, with accompanying thundering soundtrack, cast itself the full height and width of the stage. Dr. Raul was bathed in i
t, along with Steve. The images and colors encircled them, reflecting back at the audience.
The soundtrack had a decidedly new wave, techno beat, featuring a sample of the "Where's the Beef" lady repeating her catch phrase. The images were a mixture of classic Julia Child cooking shows, nature videos of lions eating zebras, a golden-age porno clip of an obese woman masturbating with a banana, and a long sustained shot of a cow taking a dump in a field. It hit at an eye-scolding pace and at a deafening volume. The video lasted no more than thirty seconds before it began to loop.
Almost instantly, the audience began to panic. Coutured couples climbed to their feet and sprinted for the exits. Eydie remained seated, making minor adjustments to the video speed and volume level via her phone.
Chaos reigned all around her as she sat at the eye of the hurricane.
Those that weren't panicked by the presentation were hurried along when smoke began to rise from the front of the auditorium. Kevin and Beat had positioned themselves strategically near the stage, where they'd triggered green and blue smoke canisters on Eydie's cue. The plumes of colored smoke began to give the whole event a hair-rock sort of feel, as the projector looped to the start of its video.
"Okay, time to wrap this up," Prime's voice came over Eydie's ear bud.
"But I'm just starting to have fun..." Eydie said, smiling, as welldressed people all around her clawed at each other, fighting towards the exits.
"Wrap it up if you want to get out alive," Prime said soberly. Then he added, "Notice I said If."
"Okay, okay..." Eydie conceded, tapping the icon for the finale macro. She secured her phone away in her purse and rose from her seat. Before her, three stories tall, the video project cut to a black screen. Slowly, in large block capitals, words faded into view, like the teaser to some science-fiction blockbuster:
Zombpunk: STEM Page 13
