“Sit down, Brother Daiss,” Samuelson said, gesturing to a chair. “I have a new assignment for you.” His eyes focused on the air between them as he read something via his EI. “Clayton Ricker’s son has been killed. Now I know what you’re probably thinking, and no, it doesn’t appear to be politically or economically motivated. We’ve found no link to any legitimate corporate interest as a perpetrator, so this case remains under Federal jurisdiction. A waitress and some bum got uppity in a corporate diner. The waitress was the first to become violent, and then some student from Fisher Academy got involved… we suspect he may have had some grudge against Ricker.”
“Thank you for telling me, Instructor,” Daiss said. “But there are no corporate diners in the Zone. Why would Task Force Zeta be interested in this case, sir? Outside the Zone is outside our focus area, isn’t it, sir?”
“I volunteered you for this one,” Samuelson said. “A waitress and a bum, so obviously they’re from the Zone, which is certainly our focus area. But more importantly, it’s Clayton Ricker’s son, dead. It is crucial that you do everything to show him we’re working on the case around the clock and expending all available resources.”
“Yes, sir. Though I am surprised at this. Task Force Zeta has never strived to impress ordinary businessmen before, even at Ricker’s level. Don’t we usually let other Agents do the bowing and scraping to those people, sir?”
“If the point was to keep him happy, then yes. But in this case it’s something quite different. We need Clayton Ricker, and everyone else, to believe he’s getting special treatment because of who he is. What’s material to us is the impression we give about our work, not his actual satisfaction with it. Then when he and the rest of the public have seen that the Zone forbids justice even to the likes of him, they will clamor to seal off its dangers.”
“Brilliant, sir! And so what level of involvement shall I have?”
“Well, full involvement, of course. You will do everything you can to investigate the case, duty-bound as you are. And eventually you’ll locate the waitress and bring her in, unless she ends up dead from the Zone’s various hazards first. But you needn’t be terribly efficient about it. And if she does end up dead, perhaps we’ll keep that information to ourselves a while and let the tension remain high. This investigation will allow us to begin addressing other issues as we gradually claim total jurisdiction over the Zone.”
“Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”
Coach V’s Clinic
“Okay,” Wanda said. “I guess I got the information they needed. I should probably find someone to assign me a new job.”
“Could you stay with me a bit longer, please?” he asked. “I want to keep talking to make sure my brain is okay.”
Wanda glanced around the clinic. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. They haven’t given me another assignment but maybe I’m supposed to ask for one. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
“I don’t know that I can afford to trust your judgment in this case. From what I’ve seen it’s quite strict here.” Wanda glanced over her shoulder toward the storeroom, where Coach was meeting with the Directorate. “I don’t know what’s going on in there now, but it looks serious.”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on there,” he said, leaning closer. His voice became a legitimate whisper, rather than the low but more forceful speaking tone these people used generally. “The Directorate controls the Horde, and the Horde controls this whole area. They used to control me. I made it into some of the inner circles, and they trusted me enough to make me kill for them. I ended up here in the clinic a few days ago, after getting shot on a mission to poison a water supply.” He pulled his shirt collar away, revealing a bandaged shoulder. “The Directorate has always wanted control of this clinic, but Coach has made it clear that she won’t treat anyone if she can’t treat everyone. They’ve tried many times to convince her otherwise, and I’m sure they’re running out of patience. This clinic is a strategic asset they want to control completely.”
“A strategic asset?” Wanda asked. Her own voice had dropped to a whisper, too. It was uncomfortable speaking in a room with so many silent people all around, especially when she remembered Judee’s desperate, slapping warning. If she were to survive here at all, though, she needed to understand this world.
“A strategic asset is something that helps win wars, like a port or a fortress.”
“There’s a war?”
“A war has been brewing for a long time. There have been skirmishes between the Horde and the Fiends, but it hasn’t erupted into more than that because the Horde has so little the Fiends want. The Fiend army, called the New Union, preferred to enslave the wild people on their side of the Zone because they were better fighters than the Horde’s CBD rejects. Now they’ve claimed all the wild types, and there’s been some evidence that they’re starting to capture Hordesmen. Controlled with drugs and fear, the captives become slave soldiers for the New Union. They’re not in any hurry, I think because it takes time to get the new ones brainwashed and addicted, but once the Fiends decide to make a real push on this territory, the Horde will fall in a matter of days.”
“I just encountered the Horde, not even an hour ago,” Wanda said. “It was an overwhelming experience.”
“The Horde is scary, that’s true. Nothing like the Fiends, though. I was with the Horde for nearly two years. Lots of us Saved come from it. There were a dozen of us in here when the One Who Returned appeared, and we all just stopped being Horde right then. We’ve been following him since.”
“Since you were here getting that shoulder patched a few days ago?”
Porter nodded.
“You met someone here and just followed him out?” Wanda asked. “I can see how the idea of leaving the Horde has some appeal, especially if what you said about the Fiends is true, but how did you suddenly decide to abandon the only form of security available? The Zone is a dangerous place.”
“When you meet the One, it’ll be obvious why I chose this path. You’ll see what we all saw that day: He has come to save us from the misery that is life here. Every day more come to join us, mostly from the Horde.”
“So you started with twelve, a few days ago, and now you have, what, like thirty?”
“Nine hundred seventy something, as of last night. Probably many more now.”
Wanda gaped.
“It’s surprising, I know,” he said. “But there are several reasons for it. Think about how many Zone people would have joined the Horde if they could,” he said. “Every day the Fiends get a little more dangerous, a little more brutal. Regular Zone people live all alone out there. The Horde, with its thousands of Hordesmen, provides protection to former corporates, but even it is threatened now. We’re different. We have a truly divine leader who promises salvation, and we welcome everyone who believes. The more who join, the more protection we’re able to provide each other. Even those who have never seen him are coming to join us, and bringing family and friends.”
A boy of maybe twelve came running up to Porter’s bedside.
“United in faith we live,” the boy said. It was strange to hear such formal words said with such a guttural Zone accent.
“United in faith we live,” Porter replied.
“The other Disciples’re ready,” the kid said. “There’s twenty-seven elite guard total, seventeen still standin’ outside, so mus’ be ten in here. Assault weapons an’ body armor.”
Porter laughed to himself. “Unbelievable,” he said to Wanda. “The entire Directorate came to this place with not even thirty guards between them. You can see they’ve only had to worry about border skirmishes with a few Fiends now and again. Cockiness like that will get them in trouble, you’ll see.” Turning back to the boy, he said, “Tell the other Disciples to wait until they hear me.”
The boy ran off.
The storeroom door opened and Coach V. appeared, holding it open and gesturing for the
Directorate and guards to leave through it. “…not be intimidated!” she said. The Directorate stayed where they were.
Porter sprung up, making Wanda jump and slip off the edge of the bed, landing on the floor. Six patients sprang from their beds, aiming assault rifles into the still brightly lit operating room. From where she sat, Wanda could see one of the guards grabbing for his gun. Then all six attackers fired. Porter lunged toward the door, repeatedly firing a handgun.
The bandage lay on the bed where it had fallen off; there had been no head wound. Wanda could now hear the steady fire of automatic weapons outside.
Amelix Building, CBD
“Hello, Dr. Kessler,” Keiko said.
“Hi, cutie,” he said, looking her up and down. Her body curved nicely beneath her Corporate Green uniform. “Come on in.”
“I guess our analysis of Eric Basali’s writing may as well end now, sir, with Basali’s suicide attempt today,” she said. “There’s no reason for us to determine wrongdoing if he’s headed for mandatory reconditioning and a clean slate.”
“No, no,” he said. “Wrongdoing was only part of it. I’ve begun a new project for us, where you’ll translate all his writing into those fundamental pillars of Accepted life you’re so good at parsing out. It’s powerful stuff you’re producing, Keiko. When added to our supporting documentation for various regulations, that language will thoroughly discourage workers from questioning their applicability. We have an amazing opportunity to codify the moral and ethical basis for everything Amelix does. I think you’ll be coming here for quite some time.”
“That’s wonderful, Dr. Kessler, sir,” she said breathily. “But will Amelix allow such an investment of our time and energy?”
“Of course. Humanity itself is any modern organization’s main raw input. Amelix is special among the corporations of today because as a biotech firm we still produce a high number of patented products, but it still holds true for us. Our most important business is processing raw personnel into a devoted workforce that exists solely to further the company’s interest in every possible circumstance. This project has huge potential for streamlining that process, and I will make sure you are recognized for your contribution to it.
“Mmm. Thank you, sir. You’re truly a gifted executive, Dr. Kessler, and I have so, so much to learn from you.”
“Yes, you do. But tonight, we’re going out. Let’s visit a nasty little bar I know in the Zone.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” Keiko gushed.
Kessler put his arm around her waist, escorting her out of the office and out of the building. His hand caressed her hip. They left the CBD on foot, through one of the gates that opened into the Zone’s entertainment area. The smell of decay was still easily noticeable, but it seemed somehow more bearable than it was most days in the Zone. The gravel crunched under their shoes.
“Where are we going, sir, if I may ask?” Keiko said.
“It’s a hidden bottle club called Lincoln’s,” he said. “Private. I’m a member there. It’s safer than regular bars and we can have a room to ourselves.”
“Welcome to the Roman Legions,” a man wearing some kind of cloak or cape said as he passed, throwing a handful of powder into Kessler’s face. Keiko screamed as Kessler coughed and choked and tried to wipe the stuff from his eyes.
Fisher University Campus
“I can’t even tell you how glad I am that we have class together now!” Jack said. Li’l Ed wished he’d taken a different route. He pointedly looked away, at anything but Jack, and tried to increase the distance between them as they walked, hoping their interaction would be less obvious to observers. Jack kept pace and continued to talk. “People have stared at me in every class today. Nobody said anything about Sett or the waitress directly—they hardly said anything to me at all, actually—but they never seemed to look away.”
“We can’t sit together,” Li’l Ed said. “If we separate, maybe they’ll see our group that day as just a random gathering. Maybe they’ll forgive us for having been there. It’s unlikely but we have to do whatever we can.”
“Come on, Li’l Ed!” Jack said. “I don’t know how much more isolation I can take. If we sit together like always, it will be like we still have some status, some reason to be here.”
“Precisely why we can’t. If we act like we have no group, no status here at all, then we’re not a threat. They can bully us and push us around, but in the end they will have no real reason to kick us out. If we seem to be a united front, though, a group with pride and a sense of belonging here on campus, they’ll feel they have to destroy us right away.”
“But they’ll probably do that anyway,” Jack said. “There will be some decision made, by the school and by the crowd. We know how the dynamic works. They’ll probably decide we’re out, no matter what we do.”
“We have to try. A slight chance is better than none.” Li’l Ed bounded up two stairs and then two more, causing Jack to fall a few steps behind. “Don’t walk with me, Jack, and don’t sit with me. Act like we’re strangers who were caught in an awkward situation and now are trying to put it behind us. That’s what we are.”
Outside Dobo Protein Refinery
Furius sat leaning against a wall, appearing to be just another hopeless Zone inhabitant with no place to go and nothing to do. He’d been watching the closed refinery for about an hour. He supposed the red cloak around his shoulders might stand out a bit, but in this part of town, people had little choice but to wear whatever was available. His appearance didn’t seem to strike anyone as unusual.
Collecting information about the Garbageman and his life had been surprisingly easy. The man had not been nearly careful enough, given the kind of work he did on the side and the number of people around here who hated his guts.
With the various deals Furius had done and the single-dose packages he’d exchanged for information, plus the random passersby he’d been dosing with fistfuls of Pink Shit on the street, he’d now put more than two hundred more doses into circulation. The new Roman army would soon rise to conquer this strange, desolate land.
According to its posted business hours this protein refinery was supposed to have opened hours ago. People had come carrying waste to turn in for payment, waited, and then left again. The Garbageman’s continued absence made sense if he had been replaced by a Roman by now. Perhaps he was out searching for his superiors.
Or perhaps he is a superior.
Until now, Furius had assumed the army would consist of foot soldiers oath-bound to serve at his direction. It had not occurred to him that someone of higher rank might come through, a general or praetor with a clear plan of action. He was a bit surprised by his disappointment at the thought. Shouldn’t he be happy to have a leader, someone to whom the blood would stick, someone who would be responsible for the carnage and misery the new campaign would bring?
Yes. Of course that will be better. My job will be as it always was, keeping discipline in the ranks and killing as I’m told. Let the generals make the decisions and carry the guilt.
If Furius remained the highest-ranking Roman in this territory, he would have to assume sole responsibility for advancing the Republic’s interest here. It was his duty, and duty was everything to a soldier. Given the choice, he’d prefer to take orders and keep his mind clean, though.
A vision came to him: He stood in Charon’s boat, regal and powerful in a general’s armor crossing the underworld’s River Styx. Then suddenly a thousand unseen hands grabbed him and threw him out of the boat and into the water.
Not water! Blood. Blood I have spilled!
It burned his flesh as if it were molten bronze. He sunk down into it, fast, burning, suffocating, and dissolving in it, yet he never died, never lost consciousness or moved on from it. In campaigns before, the sacramentum had protected Furius; the blood hadn’t counted against him. This would have been his fate, had he been a general controlling those conflicts.
He shook his head and the River Styx faded awa
y. Furius returned, shuddering, to the world of guns, drugs, and garbage.
Gods below, please let there be a general.
Dok’s place
Kym Evans leaned woozily against Dok’s office wall. It had taken her a few tries to lift herself off Mikk’s floor, but finally she’d managed to change out of her stinking, blood-stiff clothes and head here. She had stumbled and shuffled along the street, stopping to rest and even sitting down on the gravel a few times, but now she’d made it here and everything would be okay. She was already feeling better, from just a single dose of bitter powder mixed into water. Dok was a great healer.
Some mother had brought in a boy with rotten teeth, and Dok was working on them now. He’d hypnotized the kid into feeling no pain.
A strange man sat next to Kym on the floor, bearded and dressed in rags even more torn up than hers. The harder she made herself look away from him, the harder he seemed to stare.
Another man trying to bully and control me!
Fed up, she turned to him, scowling.
“Hello, there,” he said. “How are you feeling?” His gaze was flat and his voice was monotone, but it was a more pleasant exchange than she had expected, or, for that matter, had experienced in a long while.
“Better,” she said, deflating. “Thanks.” The man’s eye was partially black and his lip was split and swollen. “Looks like you got some of what I got, huh?”
“Well worth it, I assure you,” he said. “I was the first casualty in the General’s war.” He nodded toward the young girl with the long gash across her face. “She will end the kind of abuse you and I suffer in this society.”
“Okay. Sure she will,” Kym said.
“What we need is a leader to bring us together,” he said. “To make us strong. The General’s army has already begun to gather around her: The young student you saw before, for instance, and me. We’re merely followers, but you can see she possesses the kind of true greatness that can bring together all the various elements of our society.”
The Book of Wanda, Volume Two of the Seventeen Trilogy Page 11
