by Stanley Bing
“The majority of humanity now lives only in areas that have Wi-Fi,” said Stevie. “This leaves most of the world empty, since only a few of us have a different vision of what things oughta look like.”
“This may surprise you,” said Gene, “but I don’t really disagree with anything you’ve been talking about.”
“That’s the most depressing thing I’ve heard all day,” replied Stevie.
It was about then that the first drone appeared, hovering on the road in front of them. “Drone,” said Stevie, addressing his compadre in the back of the vehicle.
“Gotcha,” said Steve. “Excuse me, people.” He pressed a button on the side of the Chevy’s rear cabin, and the back window rolled down slowly. He then produced a modest handgun from the pocket of his hoodie. “Get in front of it, Stevie.”
Stevie floored the monster. It shot ahead at an ungodly speed, smooth and solid, and in a moment, the small drone, which had a camera in its nozzle, was hovering behind them. It rose a bit higher in the air and gained speed, just as Steve raised the handgun and shot it out of the sky, sending it careening off into the woods. The Chevy slowed down to sub–warp speed again, and they proceeded on their way.
“That was not cool,” said Steve.
“We gotta motor,” said Stevie calmly. “Don’t worry. If we don’t stop, we should be okay.”
They went on for a couple of miles, and Bronwyn said, “Well, Bob, if we’re going to give it a try, there’s no time like the present.”
“Right,” said Bob, who turned and kneeled in his seat to better address the denizens of the second row. “Gene. Liv. I’d like to try an experiment.”
“I know that look,” Gene said. “That’s Bob’s ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side’ look, and it almost always precedes something he intends to do whether you want him to or not. And sometimes he’s telling the truth, and he is on your side, and sometimes he’s lying, and he isn’t, and you generally end up finding out which it is a little too late to do anything about it.”
“The thing is,” said Bob, who was holding something very small in his hand, “wouldn’t it be great if you could, like, do something, say, every twenty-four or forty-eight hours and suppress the other guy effectively without having to be intoxicated to do so?”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
“Well, that’s what I’d like to try,” said Bob, and without further discussion, he reached across the seat, grabbed Gene’s free hand, twisted it around so that Gene’s wrist was upward, and slapped a small blue translucent square of Xee directly onto his pulse point.
“No!” Liv screamed, and punched Bob squarely in the face.
“Motherfucker!” yelled Bob, grabbing his nose, which had sprouted an impressive freshet of gore.
“Jesus, Liv!” Bronwyn was mad, but there was a little laughter in there, too. She rummaged in the glove compartment and found a packet of Kleenex, which she applied to Bob’s wounded beezer. “You sort of earned that, honey,” she said to him consolingly.
In the meantime, Livia had grabbed Gene by both shoulders and was regarding him closely. For his part, Gene had slipped into something approaching a meditative trance. His arm was still up, wrist exposed, square of Xee now totally devoid of color, which meant that its load had been deposited and the effect would soon be evident.
That’s when the second drone appeared in the air above the vehicle. Where its predecessor had been a small hobbyist’s model with a tiny camera on board, this thing was something else entirely. Approximately two feet in length, it not only sported what was obviously a state-of-the-art 36,000K full-motion video capture setup, but also had a seam in its belly that implied the capacity to sport payload.
“You know the drill, Stevie,” said Steve, who once again lowered the rear window. From one of the cases beside him, he extracted a long, thin plasma rifle with a telescopic sight. “Drive smooth now,” he said, and, after performing several preparatory maneuvers with the weapon, he aimed carefully at the midsized drone and blew a perfectly targeted shot into its undercarriage. The device veered up, then down, then flipped over, then did an impressive pirouette above them in the sky and vectored off into nowhere. Once again they slowed to a safer speed. Quietly and without fanfare, Steve opened a final case, this one hard and quite sizeable, and took out a state-of-the-art assault weapon that appeared capable of cutting a building in half. The occupants of the car simply looked at the military ordnance without comment. Steve smiled apologetically. “I was hoping never to have to use it,” he said. “I’m actually a pacifist.”
“In all the annals of stupid humanity, you guys are the dumbest fucking bozos ever,” said the creature that had been Gene but now was something completely different.
“Uh-oh,” said Bob.
22
The Sorrows of Xee
“Where the fuck are we?” said the person in the seat next to Liv.
“We are on the road to a destination up north,” said Liv carefully, “because it’s the only place that may be safe from the Corporation and its nefarious plans.” She had pushed the body of Gene, still clutched tightly by the shoulders, to the farthest distance the length of her arms made possible and was regarding him coldly.
“Yeah, right,” said the person sitting next to her, who was neither completely Gene nor utterly Arthur.
“So may I inquire,” said Livia, looking deep into the eyes of her companion, “to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Cut the shit, why don’t we,” said Arthur, twisting out of Livia’s grasp and repairing to the far end of the seat, glaring at them all. The body that contained both Gene and Arthur then put up a massive battle with itself, with its right arm attempting to take a pull at the bottle of booze it was holding, while at the same time, the left arm did everything it could to prevent that bottle from reaching the lips of its owner. In the end, since Gene, like Bob, was right-handed, his arm won, and he took a massive infusion of high-torque single-malt. Coughed. Seemed to relax a bit.
“Well, this really fucked up,” he said. “Thank you, Bob. It appears your experiment is a failure. May I ask how long does this Xee thing last?”
“Four hours, tops,” said Bob sheepishly. “Look. My intentions were good.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Gene. He was pretty fed up with Bob. Science is one thing. But doing stuff like this? It was some form of masturbation that had spectacular consequences. Now Arthur was loose in his head.
“So it looks like, for a while,” he said to Liv, mostly, “I’m going to express thoughts and opinions that are not endorsed by the management.”
“See now, Gene,” said Bob, “that’s the kind of phrase that you wouldn’t even slightly know if I hadn’t placed it directly into your head from the very first download. So I agree. I’m an asshole. But I’m also your dad. Don’t forget that. And show a little respect.”
“Okay, Pops.” Gene regarded Bob as one would a favorite dog who had just pissed on his favorite rug.
“What’s the plan here, guys? I’m just asking.” It was weird, thought Liv. It looked like Gene at that moment, but it was clearly not. It was a scheming, crafty business mogul trying to hide his atrocious personality, and failing.
“We’re not going to tell you, you sick old fuck,” she said.
“I like you, Liv,” said Arthur in, frankly, a pretty smarmy way. “You’re a tasty little muskrat. If we get a chance, I’ll certainly know what to do with you.”
“I like you, too, Arthur,” said Livia. She nestled into him a little. “I hope you don’t mind, Gene.”
“Play it out,” said Gene in what was unmistakably his own voice.
“Anyway, Artie.” She gave him both baby blues, which in her case were brown. “Let’s turn it on its ass a little.”
“I don’t mind that,” said Arthur.
“What’s your plan? You’re a genius. Gene tells me you own, like, what?”
“Everything. I own everything,” replied Arthur.
&nbs
p; “Tell him that’s sexy,” said Gene.
“That kind of power is very attractive,” Livia purred.
“You’ve certainly got a tight little body,” said Arthur.
“Show just an inch or two of what you got, big boy,” said Liv to Arthur, and somewhere inside the vessel that was their common receptacle, Gene actually felt a twinge of jealousy.
“Okay. Well, look.” It was fully Arthur now, and he was excited as only a business mind can be while presenting the brilliance of its strategic plan. In the driver’s seat, unnoticed by anybody, Stevie picked up the Glock he had stowed on the dashboard and put it in his or her lap. “The whole business situation is incredibly interesting,” Arthur said. “Due to a variety of factors, an enormous segment of the goods and services that supply the entire world—and also the privatized sector of public services that were once controlled by the government—are now in the hands of . . . me. It’s not important how. But it’s interesting. Everything got concentrated. Consolidated. And subject to takeover. But what was the leverage against such a massive weight? The one thing that everybody wants. The thing that’s almost within reach. The holy grail of Musk and Venter and every person of infinite wealth. Eternal life. That was my leverage.”
“That was sort of a limited success so far.”
“There are kinks. This fucking douche that’s your boyfriend, for instance. How do we dump him? He’s a loser.”
“I like him.”
“I could do a lot better for you.”
“Yeah? In what way? I’m just curious.”
“First of all, I’m a fucking behemoth in the sack.”
“Okay,” said Liv. “But that’s not everything.”
“You want to be with a winner, doncha?”
“Tell me about that.” Liv leaned back against the opposite car door with her knees up to her chest, friendly-like.
“Look.” Arthur leaned into Liv’s airspace but kept a proper distance, filling the gap with his personal electricity. “Fuck all the pretense. Capitalism. Bullshit. This is about world domination. World domination! What has been the goal of every great man since the dawn of time?”
“Let me guess. World domination?”
“Right,” said Arthur. He was very sincere. Calm now. This was the most reasonable point of view in the world. “Go back. Think about it. Caesar. Napoléon. Hitler, who got a bad rap in some ways. Of course, he went completely overboard, but he almost got there. Now look at what we got today: complete chaos. Everybody in his own corner, with guns and rockets. Except all united by one thing.”
“Love?”
“What? No. The Cloud! The Cloud . . . Hey, excuse me, this is embarrassing, but what’s your name anyhow? I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.”
“Livia. I’m Livia.”
“Well,” said Arthur, sticking out a meaty paw, “pleased to meet you.”
Liv took his hand and shook it cordially. “I’m interested in this world domination thing,” she said. “It’s involved with the Cloud somehow?”
“Are you shitting me?” Gene’s body bounded up on his knees in the seat and leaned farther in, like a sprinter about to take off. “The Cloud. Transactions. Social interactions of all kinds. People spend their entire lives hooked into the fucking thing. It’s ridiculous! Ha!” He sat back down. “The truth is, I haven’t even begun to think of all the ways we can monetize this. If you really wanted to, you could drain the entire world of all disposable cash. In a year, maybe. Two, tops. Food. Water. Gas and electric. Entertainment programming. Police services. Fire department. Most of the military. News of every political stripe. ‘We are the world. We are the children.’ ” He then erupted in a fit of convulsive laughter.
“The thing that’s great,” said Arthur, “is that I also have this massive security force under this complete gonzo maniac who I can count on to do whatever needs to be done in the real world. Mortimer! What a psycho!”
“So, Artie, seriously,” said Liv. “You’re a complete lunatic, right? You realize that, right?”
“Tell me you don’t love it,” said Arthur, with a greasy composite leer and wink.
“Gene,” said Liv, “drink the rest of the bottle. Now, hon.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Gene. His arm paused on the way to his mouth. And the face of Arthur emerged in all the ripe malevolence of which it was capable.
“Fuck you guys. Seriously,” said Arthur. “You can flop around all you want. But in the end, I will win. Because winners always win. And that’s what I am. A winner.” Gene took a long drink. And Arthur didn’t say a whole lot more for a little while.
The road went by. “I don’t want to sound like a self-aggrandizing asshole, but I’d say that experiment was actually a success,” said Bob informationally.
Stevie looked at Bob, picked up the gun as he or she drove, regarded it seriously, but then put it back on the dashboard.
An enormous drone the size of a G12 corporate air palace appeared in the air above them. “Pull over, Stevie,” said Steve, who had been watching the skies while what he considered to be a whole lot of nonsense was going on. Stevie went from 110 to a dead stop in four seconds, grabbed his or her heater, and hopped out.
“Excuse me, kids,” said Steve, climbing over Gene and Liv and lunging out the side door with his massive cannon. He then positioned himself directly under the drone, which had halted and was observing them with no attempt to conceal itself, like a killer whale getting ready to eat a seal or two.
“Take this, you soulless thing,” said Steve, and he loosed a rain of bullets, flame, and plasma that melted the belly of the drone in one apocalyptic blast. Dripping from this mortal wound to its undercarriage, it listed off at a radical angle and disappeared into the trees girding the road. Seconds later came a gut-wrenching explosion not too far away. Steve climbed back into the car. “We gotta get off the main road,” he said.
Stevie had resumed his or her place behind the wheel. “We’re close enough,” he or she said. “We’ll ditch the car and go on foot.”
“I don’t wanna go on foot!” Gene protested.
But they did. And as they went, with Gene stumbling along, half dragged by Liv, stopping many times to rest and drink from his bottle, they felt but did not quite see, deep in the woods that surrounded them, the rustle and patter of little Ewok feet accompanying them down the discreetly blazed path.
“You hear them?” Gene asked Liv, in what he thought was a whisper.
“I have to assume they are friends,” said Liv. “Or they would have already done something.”
“Our friends,” said Stevie. They walked on. After a while, Bronwyn said, “Don’t be scared, Gene. It’s gonna be okay. The Master won’t let anything happen to us.”
“I’m not scared,” claimed Gene, clutching Liv’s waist a little tighter to avoid being upended by an upcoming stump. “I’m kind of happy, actually.” And he squeezed her even tighter. A giant redwood clearing reared up ahead of them.
“We’re at the gathering place,” announced Steve, with some reverence. “Won’t be long now.” And they went on.
At the same time, two hundred miles south of where the last drone went down, the convoy carrying the most elite representatives of the most powerful private army and navy in the world paused at a turnout somewhere in the forest primeval north of the Washington border. Mortimer, who was driving the lead Humvee, turned to Sallie, who was riding shotgun.
“Let’s get out for a minute,” he said. He climbed out of the vehicle and motioned for the line of trucks, cars, and flatbeds to halt while he did whatever it was that commanders do when they don’t know where they’re going. He put his hands on his hips and affected a masterful mien.
Sallie climbed out after him and stood by his side, with Lucy in her arms.
“Where the hell are we?” asked the pet.
“I have no idea, dear,” said Sallie, kissing the top of Lucifer’s little head.
Mortim
er was outfitted in dark-green battle fatigues, with a number of neutron grenades on his belt and a lightweight plasma handgun on each hip. He’d had his hair trimmed into a vertical brush in preparation for the upcoming engagement and looked quite smart. Sallie was in neatly pressed denims and an old-fashioned work shirt with some flowers embroidered on the sleeves. She’d tied a sweatshirt around her waist and was armed only with the shiny green synthetic lizard-tortoise combo that, at this point, was her best and only friend. Mortimer cracked a leather case on his belt and extracted a pair of high-powered field glasses. He scanned the horizon, which stretched before them in an unending ocean of greenery: pines, redwoods, eucalyptus, and, in the very far distance, a silver river snaking off into oblivion. He consulted the information coming in from his implant.
“Coverage is spotty here,” he said.
“We sort of know where they’re going, don’t we?”
“Not precisely. They brought down the papa drone a few minutes ago. You gotta hand it to ’em. They’re tough and resourceful, and they’re well-armed enough. We’re going to have a hell of a fight when we catch up to them.”
“I don’t want anybody hurt,” said Sallie quietly. Both she and Lucy looked with some emphasis at Mortimer, who appeared disappointed.
“To quote a great man,” he said, believing that Arthur, not a former president of the United States, now disgraced, was the originator of this brilliant observation: “Why do we have these weapons if we don’t want to use them?”
“Mort,” said Sallie, as one would address a naughty child.
“You want your husband back, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t want to lay waste to this . . . this paradise.”
“Well, we’ll do the best we can while making sure to achieve our objectives,” said Mortimer, moving around the Humvee to get back in the driver’s seat. He raised one arm high over his head and achieved a crisp, circular motion. A score of engines roared into life. Each vehicle’s self-driving mode had been disabled; they were being driven by corporate security officers in dark-green khaki similar to that of their boss, with slightly less ordnance weighing them down. In addition to their uniforms and armor, each officer wore an appropriately determined expression. None had ever actually been in battle before. But they were excited by the prospect of the action that lay before them. They had each seen plenty of war movies as part of their training and were pretty sure about the way this whole thing was supposed to go.
