Invaders: 22 Tales From the Outer Limits of Literature

by Jacob Weisman

  Then, like before, came the dwindling. Our talking became less excellent. Words were fewer, our sentences shorter. Still, I loved her. Loved Rachel. Everything about her just seemed perfect: her cheek mole, her black hair, the little butt-squirm she did now and then, as if to say, Mmm-mmm, was that ever good.

  “Drip on?” Abnesti said. “We are going to try to get you both back to baseline.”

  “Acknowledge,” she said.

  “Well, hold on,” I said.

  “Jeff,” Abnesti said, irritated, as if trying to remind me that I was here not by choice but because I had done my crime and was in the process of doing my time.

  “Acknowledge,” I said. And gave Rachel one last look of love, knowing (as she did not yet know) that this would be the last look of love I would be giving her.

  Soon she was merely fine to me, and I merely fine to her. She looked, as had Heather, embarrassed, as in, What was up with that just now? Why did I just go so overboard with Mr. Average here?

  Did I love her? Or her me?

  No.

  When it was time for her to go, we shook hands.

  The place where my MobiPak™ was surgically joined to my lower back was sore from all our positional changes. Plus I was way tired. Plus I was feeling so sad. Why sad? Was I not a dude? Had I not just fucked two different girls, for a total of six times, in one day?

  Still, honestly, I felt sadder than sad.

  I guess I was sad that love was not real? Or not all that real, anyway? I guess I was sad that love could feel so real and the next minute be gone, and all because of something Abnesti was doing.

  IV

  After Snack Abnesti called me into Control. Control being like the head of a spider. With its various legs being our Workrooms. Sometimes we were called upon to work alongside Abnesti in the head of the spider. Or, as we termed it: the Spiderhead.

  “Sit,” he said. “Look into Large Workroom 1.”

  In Large Workroom 1 were Heather and Rachel, side by side.

  “Recognize them?” he said.

  “Ha,” I said.

  “Now,” Abnesti said. “I’m going to present you with a choice, Jeff. This is what we’re playing at here. See this remote? Let’s say you can hit this button and Rachel gets some Darkenfloxx™. Or you can hit this button and Heather gets the Darkenfloxx™. See? You choose.”

  “They’ve got Darkenfloxx™ in their MobiPaks™?” I said.

  “You’ve all got Darkenfloxx™ in your MobiPaks™, dummy,” Abnesti said affectionately. “Verlaine put it there Wednesday. In anticipation of this very study.”

  Well, that made me nervous.

  Imagine the worst you have ever felt, times ten. That does not even come close to how bad you feel on Darkenfloxx™. The time it was administered to us in Orientation, briefly, for demo purposes, at one-third the dose now selected on Abnesti’s remote? I have never felt so terrible. All of us were just moaning, heads down, like, How could we ever have felt life was worth living?

  I do not even like to think about that time.

  “What’s your decision, Jeff?” Abnesti said. “Is Rachel getting the Darkenfloxx™? Or Heather?”

  “I can’t say,” I said.

  “You have to,” he said.

  “I can’t,” I said. “It would be like random.”

  “You feel your decision would be random,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  And that was true. I really didn’t care. It was like if I put you in the Spiderhead and gave you the choice: which of these two strangers would you like to send into the shadow of the valley of death?

  “Ten seconds,” Abnesti said. “What we’re testing for here is any residual fondness.”

  It wasn’t that I liked them both. I honestly felt completely neutral toward both. It was exactly as if I had never seen, much less fucked, either one. (They had really succeeded in taking me back to baseline, I guess I am saying.)

  But, having once been Darkenfloxxed™, I just didn’t want to do that to anyone. Even if I didn’t like the person very much, even if I hated the person, I still wouldn’t want to do it.

  “Five seconds,” Abnesti said.

  “I can’t decide,” I said. “It’s random.”

  “Truly random?” he said. “OK. I’m giving the Darkenfloxx™ to Heather.”

  I just sat there.

  “No, actually,” he said. “I’m giving it to Rachel.”

  Just sat there.

  “Jeff,” he said. “You have convinced me. It would, to you, be random. You truly have no preference. I can see that. And therefore I don’t have to do it. See what we just did? With your help? For the first time? Via the ED289/290 suite? Which is what we’ve been testing today? You have to admit it: you were in love. Twice. Right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Very much in love,” he said. “Twice.”

  “I said yes,” I said.

  “But you just now expressed no preference,” he said. “Ergo, no trace of either of those great loves remains. You are totally cleansed. We brought you high, laid you low, and now here you sit, the same emotionwise as before our testing even began. That is powerful. That is killer. We have unlocked a mysterious eternal secret. What a fantastic game-changer! Say someone can’t love? Now he or she can. We can make him. Say someone loves too much? Or loves someone deemed unsuitable by his or her caregiver? We can tone that shit right down. Say someone is blue, because of true love? We step in, or his or her caregiver does: blue no more. No longer, in terms of emotional controllability, are we ships adrift. No one is. We see a ship adrift, we climb aboard, install a rudder. Guide him/her toward love. Or away from it. You say, ‘All you need is love’? Look, here comes ED289/290. Can we stop war? We can sure as heck slow it down! Suddenly the soldiers on both sides start fucking. Or, at low dosage, feeling super-fond. Or say we have two rival dictators in a death grudge. Assuming ED289/290 develops nicely in pill form, allow me to slip each dictator a mickey. Soon their tongues are down each other’s throats and doves of peace are pooping on their epaulets. Or, depending on the dosage, they may just be hugging. And who helped us do that? You did.”

  All this time, Rachel and Heather had just been sitting there in Large Workroom 1.

  “That’s it, gals, thanks,” Abnesti said on the P.A.

  And they left, neither knowing how close they had come to getting Darkenfloxxed™ out their wing-wangs.

  Verlaine took them out the back way, i.e., not through the Spiderhead but via the Back Alley. Which is not really an alley, just a carpeted hallway leading back to our Domain Cluster.

  “Think, Jeff,” Abnesti said. “Think if you’d had the benefit of ED289/290 on your fateful night.”

  Tell the truth, I was getting kind of sick of him always talking about my fateful night.

  I’d been sorry about it right away and had got sorrier about it ever since, and was now so sorry about it that him rubbing it in my face did not make me one bit sorrier, it just made me think of him as being kind of a dick.

  “Can I go to bed now?” I said.

  “Not yet,” Abnesti said. “It is hours to go before you sleep.”

  Then he sent me into Small Workroom 3, where some dude I didn’t know was sitting.

  V

  “Rogan,” the dude said.

  “Jeff,” I said.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “Not much,” I said.

  We sat tensely for a long time, not talking. Maybe ten minutes passed.

  We got some rough customers in here. I noted that Rogan had a tattoo of a rat on his neck, a rat that had just been knifed and was crying. But even through its tears it was knifing a smaller rat, who just looked surprised.

  Finally Abnesti came on the P.A.

  “That’s it, guys, thanks,” he said.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Rogan said.

  Good question, Rogan, I thought. Why had we been left just sitting there? In the same manner that Heather and Rachel
had been left just sitting there? Then I had a hunch. To test my hunch, I did a sudden lurch into the Spiderhead. Which Abnesti always made a point of not keeping locked, to show how much he trusted and was unafraid of us.

  And guess who was in there?

  “Hey, Jeff,” Heather said.

  “Jeff, get out,” Abnesti said.

  “Heather, did Mr. Abnesti just now make you decide which of us, me or Rogan, to give some Darkenfloxx™ to?” I said.

  “Yes,” Heather said. She must have been on some VeriTalk™, because she spoke the truth in spite of Abnesti’s withering silencing glance.

  “Did you recently fuck Rogan, Heather?” I said. “In addition to me? And also fall in love with him, as you did with me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Heather, honestly,” Abnesti said. “Put a sock in it.”

  Heather looked around for a sock, VeriTalk™ making one quite literal.

  Back in my Domain, I did the math: Heather had fucked me three times. Heather had probably also fucked Rogan three times, since, in the name of design consistency, Abnesti would have given Rogan and me equal relative doses of Vivistif™.

  And yet, speaking of design consistency, there was still one shoe to drop, if I knew Abnesti, always a stickler in terms of data symmetry, which was: wouldn’t Abnesti also need Rachel to decide who to Darkenfloxx™, i.e., me or Rogan?

  After a short break, my suspicions were confirmed: I found myself again sitting in Small Workroom 3 with Rogan!

  Again we sat not talking for a long time. Mostly he picked at the smaller rat and I tried to watch without him seeing.

  Then, like before, Abnesti came on the P.A. and said, “That’s it, guys, thanks.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Rachel’s in there with you.”

  “Jeff, if you don’t stop doing that, I swear,” Abnesti said.

  “And she just declined to Darkenfloxx™ either me or Rogan?” I said.

  “Hi, Jeff!” Rachel said. “Hi, Rogan!”

  “Rogan,” I said. “Did you by any chance fuck Rachel earlier today?”

  “Pretty much,” Rogan said.

  My mind was like reeling. Rachel had fucked me plus Rogan? Heather had fucked me plus Rogan? And everyone who had fucked anyone had fallen in love with that person, then out of it?

  What kind of crazy-ass Project Team was this?

  I mean, I had been on some crazy-ass Project Teams in my time, such as one where the drip had something in it that made hearing music exquisite, and hence when some Shostakovich was piped in actual bats seemed to circle my Domain, or the one where my legs became totally numb and yet I found I could still stand fifteen straight hours at a fake cash register, miraculously suddenly able to do extremely hard long-division problems in my mind.

  But of all my crazy-ass Project Teams this was by far the most crazy-assed.

  I could not help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

  VI

  Except today wasn’t even over.

  I was again called into Small Workroom 3. And was sitting there when this unfamiliar guy came in.

  “I’m Keith!” he said, rushing over to shake my hand.

  He was a tall Southern drink of water, all teeth and wavy hair.

  “Jeff,” I said.

  “Really nice meeting you!” he said.

  Then we sat there not talking. Whenever I looked over at Keith, he would gleam his teeth at me and shake his head all wry, as if to say, “Odd job of work, isn’t it?”

  “Keith,” I said. “Do you by any chance know two chicks named Rachel and Heather?”

  “I sure as heck do,” Keith said. And suddenly his teeth had a leering quality to them.

  “Did you by any chance have sex with both Rachel and Heather earlier today, three times each?” I said.

  “What are you, man, a dang psychic?” Keith said. “You’re blowing my mind, I itmit it!”

  “Jeff, you’re totally doinking with our experimental design integrity,” Abnesti said.

  “So either Rachel or Heather is sitting in the Spiderhead right now,” I said. “Trying to decide.”

  “Decide what?” Keith said.

  “Which of us to Darkenfloxx™,” I said.

  “Eek,” Keith said. And now his teeth looked scared.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “She won’t do it.”

  “Who won’t?” Keith said.

  “Whoever’s in there,” I said.

  “That’s it, guys, thanks,” Abnesti said.

  Then, after a short break, Keith and I were once again brought into Small Workroom 3, where once again we waited as, this time, Heather declined to Darkenfloxx™ either one of us.

  Back in my Domain, I constructed a who-had-fucked-whom chart, which went like this :

  Abnesti came in.

  “Despite all your shenanigans,” he said, “Rogan and Keith had exactly the same reaction as you did. And as Rachel and Heather did. None of you, at the critical moment, could decide whom to Darkenfloxx™. Which is super. What does that mean? Why is it super? It means that ED289/290 is the real deal. It can make love, it can take love away. I’m almost inclined to start the naming process.”

  “Those girls did it nine times each today?” I said.

  “Peace4All,” he said. “LuvInclyned. You seem pissy. Are you pissy?”

  “Well, I feel a little jerked around,” I said.

  “Do you feel jerked around because you still have feelings of love for one of the girls?” he said. “That would need to be noted. Anger? Possessiveness? Residual sexual longing?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You honestly don’t feel miffed that a girl for whom you felt love was then funked by two other guys, and, not only that, she then felt exactly the same quality/quantity of love for those guys as she had felt for you, or, in the case of Rachel, was about to feel for you, at the time that she funked Rogan? I think it was Rogan. She may have funked Keith first. Then you, penultimately. I’m vague on the order of operations. I could look it up. But think deeply on this.”

  I thought deeply on it.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Well, it’s a lot to sort through,” he said. “Luckily it’s night. Our day is done. Anything else you want to talk about? Anything else you’re feeling?”

  “My penis is sore,” I said.

  “Well, no surprise there,” he said. “Think how those girls must feel. I’ll send Verlaine in with some cream.”

  Soon Verlaine came in with some cream.

  “Hi, Verlaine,” I said.

  “Hi, Jeff,” he said. “You want to put this on yourself or want me to do it?”

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  “Cool,” he said.

  And I could tell he meant it.

  “Looks painful,” he said.

  “It really is,” I said.

  “Must have felt pretty good at the time, though?” he said.

  His words seemed to be saying he was envious, but I could see in his eyes, as they looked at my penis, that he wasn’t envious at all.

  Then I slept the sleep of the dead.

  As they say.

  VII

  Next morning I was still asleep when Abnesti came on the P.A.

  “Do you remember yesterday?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “When I asked which gal you’d like to see on the Darkenfloxx™?” he said. “And you said neither?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, that was good enough for me,” he said. “But apparently not good enough for the Protocol Committee. Not good enough for the Three Horsemen of Anality. Come in here. Let’s get started—we’re going to need to do a kind of Confirmation Trial. Oh, this is going to stink.”

  I entered the Spiderhead.

  Sitting in Small Workroom 2 was Heather.

  “So this time,” Abnesti said, “per the Protocol Committee, instead of me asking you which girl to give the Darkenfloxx™ to, which the ProtComm felt was too
subjective, we’re going to give this girl the Darkenfloxx™ no matter what you say. Then see what you say. Like yesterday, we’re going to put you on a drip of—Verlaine? Verlaine? Where are you? Are you there? What is it again? Do you have the project order?”

  “Verbaluce™, VeriTalk™, ChatEase™,” Verlaine said over the P.A.

  “Right,” Abnesti said. “And did you refresh his MobiPak™? Are his quantities good?”

  “I did it,” Verlaine said. “I did it while he was sleeping. Plus I already told you I already did it.”

  “What about her?” Abnesti said. “Did you refresh her MobiPak™? Are her quantities good?”

  “You stood right there and watched me, Ray,” Verlaine said.

  “Jeff, sorry,” Abnesti said to me. “We’re having a little tension in here today. Not an easy day ahead.”

  “I don’t want you to Darkenfloxx™ Heather,” I said.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Is that because you love her?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want you to Darkenfloxx™ anybody.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said. “That is so sweet. Then again: is this Confirmation Trial about what you want? Not so much. What it’s about is us recording what you say as you observe Heather getting Darkenfloxxed™. For five minutes. Five-minute trial. Here we go. Drip on?”

  I did not say “Acknowledge.”

  “You should feel flattered,” Abnesti said. “Did we choose Rogan? Keith? No. We deemed your level of speaking more commensurate with our data needs.”

  I did not say “Acknowledge.”

  “Why so protective of Heather?” Abnesti said. “One would almost think you loved her.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Do you even know her story?” he said. “You don’t. You legally can’t. Does it involve whiskey, gangs, infanticide? I can’t say. Can I imply, somewhat peripherally, that her past, violent and sordid, did not exactly include a dog named Lassie and a lot of family talks about the Bible while Grammy sat doing macramé, adjusting her posture because the quaint fireplace was so sizzling? Can I suggest that, if you knew what I know about Heather’s past, making Heather briefly sad, nauseous, and/or horrified might not seem like the worst idea in the world? No, I can’t.”