by Matt Rogers
Chapter 14
All disease is curable because, by definition, disease is the absence of ease which is the preferred state of being for all living creatures. Medical science may not have found the cure for a wide ranging group of ailments but it doesn’t mean they cannot be remedied. Sometimes things are described as diseases when they are not. One good example of this are the two dimensions of Diabetes. People with Type 1 Diabetes are born with it and don’t actually have the disease of Diabetes, they are Diabetics. Other people develop Diabetes, usually through overeating, and they do have the disease because their bodies previously experienced life without it.
“How long do we wait?”
“Not long.”
Diabetes is a horrible ailment afflicting a vast number of people and the saddest part is most brought the condition upon themselves. They didn’t mean to and I’m not about to suggest they deserve what they got because what they got was a life-killing, joy-sucking, time-wasting, painful needle-injecting problem which medical science hasn’t been able to solve. Diabetes is the term used when someone’s muscles cannot access their blood-sugar properly. Muscle is the engine of the body and blood-sugar is the gas; both are useless without the other. There are many theories as to why the access problem exists but there is only one medical solution; injection of insulin.
“They appear to be more animated.”
“Yeah, it shouldn’t take much longer now.”
Insulin is the gas truck which delivers its cargo, blood-sugar, to the gas station which, in this case, is the muscle. Once there the gas-truck driver must have a hose with a nozzle which fits perfectly into the receptacle of the underground gas tank. If he doesn’t have the hose and nozzle he can’t deliver his blood-sugar or, and this is much more likely, the receptacle on the underground gas tank, the muscle, is difficult to access because of overuse or faulty maintenance or any other man-made problem.
“Okay, girls, it’s time to leave the room” George said as he picked up the sack he’d brought from the pharmacy.
“Why? They’re not going to care” responded Vivian.
“It’s not appropriate, Mistress” he replied.
“I cannot believe you’re making us leave” she said.
“Out, Mistress” he ordered.
If the receptacle on the muscle is troubling to access then the driver has one of two options; he can drive around the block and hope someone else has better luck or he can crank his clamp down on the receptacle so hard it will work for him but might be harder to access in the future.
“Help me put these on them, Johnny”
“What? You’ve to be kidding, George.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Truck drivers deliver cargo for a living. They don’t get paid to haul the cargo around; they get paid to deliver. Once they’ve delivered their cargo, though, they have a dilemma; one very large container with nothing in it and a very expensive vehicle to operate. Smart cargo drivers make sure at their delivery drop-off spot there is something which needs to be hauled away, usually waste from another underground container, so they load up their cargo container with the waste and deliver it to the waste site.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“You’ll be happier you did, trust me.”
“Fine, I trust you, I just wish he’d quit staring at me while I’m doing it.”
Once at the waste disposal site the cargo driver does what cargo drivers must do if they’re to maintain the integrity of the cargo container they’re entrusted with.
“There she blows!”
“I bet they feel a whole lot better.”
“I’m going to need a new couch.”
The delivery of nutrients is but one of the two functions of the circulatory system; the other is the removal of waste. Both are needed for the survival of each and every cell of higher forms of life and if there is a problem with one there will be a corresponding problem with the other. For people with severe Diabetes, they cannot deliver the necessary blood-sugar to the working muscles. The sugar is then transported to the kidneys for removal but the kidneys weren’t built for that; they were built to remove waste, waste from muscles which used blood-sugar to do their job, so the kidneys eventually fail. Once they fail people need dialysis; a process by which their blood is removed, cleansed and returned to them by a machine.
“Okay, let the girls back in.”
“Shouldn’t we put their pants back on.”
“No, we’ll need to change their diapers again pretty soon.”
Bob and Steve looked like a pair of undersized Sumo wrestlers with sports coats, ties, white shirts, diapers and spittle running down their chins; not exactly what I’d have considered optimal informants but, then again, I’d never actually been on the questioning side of an interrogation. I was on the answering side of an interrogation once and it went something like this.
“Where were you at noon?”
“In class.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“The class.”
“Why was your car seen leaving a gas station without paying for the gas?”
“Because it was thirsty?”
“Don’t be a smart Aleck .”
Who was Aleck and how annoying was he whereby people would coin a phrase demeaning his intelligence?
HOW WOULD I KNOW?
The car in question was indeed my vehicle and I have no doubt my friends did fill it up and drive away without paying for the gas but I had no proof and they denied it so there I was sweating out an interrogation from an otherwise kind officer who, I’m sure, had about a thousand things more important to do than chase after a bunch of hooligans who pilfered seventeen dollars of gas from a convenience store more than willing to overlook the whole ‘proof of identification’ thing when selling cigarettes to underage, wanna-be tough guys.
“Are they going to talk?”
“If they still retain the ability, yes” answered George.
“How do you know if they have the ability?”
“I’m going to ask them.”
“Oh.”
“What did you think I was going to do?”
“Oh, I figured you were going to ask them, I was just curious is all.”
Of course I didn’t think he was just going to ask them. I thought I was about to witness a real-time torture session involving Werewolves, Vampires and Zombies all within the comforts of my living room. It was going to be like some macabre movie experience where the bad guys get what’s coming to them by a hero who’s had just about enough of the good-guy stuff and decides to do what really works; the bad-guy stuff.
I LOVE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS.
Everyone does.
“What’s your name?” George asked.
“Bob… Simpson.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Indust… Industri…”
“Say that again.”
“Industrial… Products…”
I’ve heard many times torture doesn’t work but I’m skeptical about the claim because of one very obvious reason; if you threaten me with torture I’ll give up my information faster than you can get whatever device you’re thinking of using on me.
“Trudy?”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“This is going to take a while isn’t it?”
“Yes, probably quite a while.”
“Could you do me a favor then?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Well, earlier you said I don’t know who I am, could you explain that for me?”
“Sure. Let’s see. Oh, yeah, do you remember when we were talking about Yin and Yang?”
“The sadistic little beheading baby Werewolves?”
“Yes, those two. Well, you’re kind of a modern day Yang.”
“I’m a modern day baby Werewolf?”
“No, and technically neither was Yang.”
“What was he.”
“He was everything Yin wasn’t.”
“That’s a pretty wide and vague description.”
“I know, I’m trying to think of a good way to put this so please forgive me if I insult you, I truly don’t mean to.”
“Okay.”
“You’re a Supplicant.”
“A Supplicant?”
“Yes, I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings but I can’t think of another…”
“Trudy?”
“Yes?”
“I have absolutely no idea what a Supplicant is so my feelings are perfectly fine.”
“Oh, good, I don’t think I could stand it if I hurt…”
“Trudy?”
“Yes?”
“What’s a Supplicant?”
“The other half of a Superior.”
“A Supplicant is the other half of a Superior?”
“Yes.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Okay, it goes like this. When a Vampire has a litter it’s generally because she’s produced more than one egg so she births more than one prodigy but sometimes it’s because one or more of her eggs actually divide but the result is the same; multiple births. Now, either way the number of actual live children depends upon the health of the fetuses; if all are healthy then all will be born but if one or more are unhealthy then the remaining fetus’ will deny the unhealthy ones the nutrients to survive. Got it so far?”
“Yep, survival of the fittest at the embryo-age.”
“Yes, exactly, the strongest and healthiest survive. Now, this has been the rule in every case with the exception of one, or two, if you are what we think you are.”
“A Supplicant?”
“Yes. One half a pair of twins who were unequal when it came to health. Namely, one was strong while the other was not.”
“Okay, I’m a weak twin, so what?”
“So, you should’ve perished, Johnny, your twin embryo should’ve eliminated you.”
“Great, now I’m not only weak but have a stronger brother who’s wanted to kill me before I was born.”
“He didn’t want to, Johnny, he was compelled to.”
“Fine, either way I die. So why am I still alive? Do I have an incompetent murdering sibling?”
“No, you were able to do what only one other has been reported to have done.”
“What was that?”
“You hid.”
“I hid? What, in the womb?”
“Yes, when you were an embryo you did what was required in order to survive and became hidden in a way as to be undetected by the Superior embryo. At this time we believe you became the Supplicant embryo allowing the Superior anything it desired in order to escape it’s notice. As you developed a sort of symbiotic relationship also arose between you, the Supplicant, and your twin, the Superior. He no longer viewed you as a threat to his survival and a truce was struck whereby you were afforded the gift of life at the expense of perfection.”
“So my twin is…”
“Perfect.”
“And I’m…?”
“Not.”
Some people are born with intrinsic value society has deemed worthy of admiration. These people are found in all forms of occupations ranging from Medicine to Mathematics to the Fine Arts. If you have a skill which sets you apart from others you will be afforded the opportunity to acquire wealth, prestige and power others lacking desirable skillsets will not. What you do with your skill is entirely up to you but before you go out there and toot your own horn, remember; society can, at any time, change its mind about whether they value your particular acumen.
“What’s your name?”
“Steve…”
“What’s your last name?”
“Steve…”
“Who do you work for?”
“Steve…”
“Crap. I think we’ve got a dead one here” said George.
“Can I try?” asked Phillip.
“Go right ahead” answered George.
Phillip got right up in front of Steve What’s-his-name, stared him right in his one remaining eye, and asked in rapid fire…
“What’s your name?”
“Steve…”
“What’s your last name?”
“Steve…”
“Huh? I guess it just doesn’t work. Hey, do you think maybe his last name’s Steve?”
“What, you think his name is Steve Steve?” asked George incredulously.
“It’s possible” replied Phillip.
“Anything’s possible, Phillip, you passing eighth grade math for example.”
“Or you getting up after I knock your…”
“Boys!” interjected Vivian.
“Yes, Mistress” they responded.
“Shut up!”
You’ve got to love a species which allows the physically weaker but emotionally fitter half the right of governance.
“Trudy?”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“What happened to Yin and Yang?”
“Well, they were deemed too dangerous to live together so were brought up in separate enclaves and raised as any other Werewolves which consisted of learning how to hunt, fight and track wild game. Now, this was great for Yin because he was born with the abilities to do those things so he ate up his schooling but for Yang it was probably a horrible experience. He was incapable of bringing down even the smallest of prey and utterly useless at fighting or tracking so he became part of the background, camouflaging himself again in order to not rile any emotions and cause harm to himself. I believe it was during this time he began his planning.”
“His planning?”
“Yes, Johnny, Yin and Yang would reunite and the world of Superiors would…”
“Crap!” yelled Phillip.
“What’s wrong?” asked Vivian.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong, Mistress, it’s just Stevie-boy here, well, let’s just say what I yelled was more a description than anything else.”
“Oh, gross!”
“I’ll get the diapers” said Trudy.
“Hold on…” I said and was going to follow with the question ‘What in the world of Superiors was going to happen?’ when…
“Hello? Anybody home?”
… Nat Hallowed, green Alien Detective, walked into my apartment.
Six-hundred square feet sounds like a large amount of space until you enter the place when it’s empty. The first time I saw my apartment it was nothing but white walls, clean kitchen appliances, beautiful beige carpet and it looked like a hamster would get claustrophobic. For some reason putting things inside a small enclosed area actually makes it feel larger. Maybe it’s because it gives you a reference to view how tall your walls are or how wide your floor is but, whatever the case, after I put my futon, card table and television in the twelve by twelve foot space allotted for them it actually had the place looking like a domicile. I couldn’t invite anyone over, though, because I really only had the one futon and unless she wanted to snuggle on a first date the only other places she could sit were on one of the fold-out chairs or the floor. Now, the floor technically would’ve been a better viewing location if she wanted to watch television because it’s where I dumped the two-foot square juggernaut of plastic, glass and wiring because I had no other furniture to speak of. The spectacular viewing she would’ve been afforded consisted of the four major networks and an amazing number of Spanish language channels available over the air because even in my delusional state of denial there was still no way I could justify spending any discretionary income on any form of entertainment which didn’t involve the words happy hour, two-for-one, or matinee. I’d gotten quite used to my little oasis in the greater Metroplex of Dallas/Fort Worth and didn’t see any reason to change my surroundings even justifying it to myself by labeling it minimalist furnishing because of a restaurant I’d heard of which opened under the theme Asian Minimalism. The theme caught my eye because I thought it might’ve been the most brilliant business plan I’d ever heard of. Not only do you serve extraordinarily
small quantities of food at an exorbitant price but you have customers who’re already prepared to pay outrageous sums for the tidbits of ort which would need to sustain them until they could sneak away from their significant other in the middle of the night to hit up whichever fast food restaurant was in a three mile area so they could satisfy their bewildered stomachs which had been expecting something larger than a grasshopper and two peas for the price of a used mini-van.
“Johnny, nice place you’ve got here” the green detective said.
“Thanks” I replied because I didn’t know how to read sarcasm on visiting Aliens yet.
DO YOU KNOW NOW?
That, itself, was sarcasm you nitwit.
“Nat!” Vivian exclaimed as she ran the two feet needed to jump in his arms and hug him.
“Hello, Vivian” he replied with a wide smile.
“Hello, Nat” said Trudy.
“Hello, Trudy” he responded as he set Vivian down and went to hug her.
“Uh, Trudy?”
“Yes, Phillip?”
“The diapers?”
“Oh crap.”
“Exactly.”
I went over to shut the front door the detective had left standing ajar because I’d never been one to waste which I didn’t have; in this case money to pay for the air-conditioning bill I’d already subconsciously decided to forget about because I was going missing. It doesn’t make any sense now but at the time let me tell you… alright, it didn’t make sense then either but I just don’t like to see precious resources squandered away and I also didn’t think it would be a good thing if one of my neighbors happened to drop by and saw two obviously distressed individuals wearing diapers sitting on my couch being peppered with questions by two seven-foot men while a pair of runway models and a six-foot tall, bug-eyed, green-skinned Alien looked on from my kitchen. The fact neither I nor any of my neighbors had ever once visited the other was beside the point.
NEVER?
Nope. Couldn’t have picked them out of a lineup.
“Hello, George.”
“Hello, Nat.”
“Any luck?”
“Maybe with Bob here, he seems to have retained a little bit of neural ability but the other one…?”
“Brain dead?”
“Yep, the only thing he can say is ‘Steve’.”
“Steve…” came the automated response from the poor guy on the couch.
“How sad. What’re you going to do with him?”
“I don’t know? Toss him back in I guess.”
“What?” I said from the kitchen area by the front door which was easily audible in the living room where they stood because six-hundred square feet really is nothing more than an oversized closet.
“What?” George looked at me questioningly.
“What did you say you were going to do with Steve?”
“Steve…” said diaper man.
“Put him back in the lake” replied George.
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just not right.”
“Not right? The man’s a Zombie.”
“So?”
“So, he’s dead.”
“No he’s not, he’s sitting right there on the couch talking.”
“Talking? All he can say is ‘Steve’.”
“Steve…” Steve said.
“It’s still not right, George, maybe he can make a comeback.”
“A comeback? He’s only got one eye, Johnny.”
“So? Lots of people have only one eye.”
“Really? Have you ever met anyone with only one eye?”
“Yes.”
Of course I’ve never met anybody with only one eye. The closest I’ve ever come to meeting a person with one eye is when I met this lady with a lazy eye and it was a very weird experience. She had one of those eyes which would drift up and to the side as you were talking to her so you tried to ignore the whole thing and concentrate on what she was saying by looking into her one good eye, which was eyeballing you with sincere interest, but she had a weird kind of affliction because while you were looking at the good eye it would start to drift up and away and the other eye, the bad one, would become the good one. You would shift your attention back and forth between whichever eye was eyeballing you at any particular time so it became like watching a tennis match with no end while carrying on a conversation you couldn’t follow because you were constantly wondering where to look.
“Well, then, what do you want to do with him?” George asked.
“I don’t know, don’t you have a Zombie resting home or something?”
“No, we don’t have a Zombie resting home” he replied.
“Well you should” I retorted.
“George?” said Vivian.
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Let’s worry about what to do with Steve later, okay?”
“Steve…” Zombie Steve said.
“Yes Mistress. Hey Nat, did you bring your fingerprinting kit with you?”
“Of course, it’s down in my truck. Do you want me to get it?”
“Yes, please.”
“No problem. Hey, Johnny, you want to keep me company?”
“Uh… sure” I responded.
We opened the front door to my apartment and I’ll be darned if we didn’t encounter the rarest of sights in my little part of North Texas; my actual neighbor leaving her apartment the exact same time we were leaving mine. I was caught in the strange area where what your first instinct tells you to do is the exact thing your second instinct tells you not to do. In this case my first instinct was to retreat inside and slam the door shut like I was an introverted hermit but my second instinct told me this would only confuse and possibly scare the poor woman who might then think I was a serial cat-hoarder and either call the police or, worse yet, the apartment manager. So I stood there in a state of un-decidability until I was pushed from behind by the green detective out onto the stairs where my sweet little neighbor lady was looking at me with bewilderment and a smile. I smiled back because I’m not a jerk…
YES YOU ARE.
… and waited for her to shriek in horror at the sight of the invading Martian from Heaven when, to my amazement, she merely smiled wider, nodded her head and proceeded down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot below.
“She didn’t…?” I said.
“Nope.”
“But… why…?”
“Because she sees me as a regular Joe.”
“Huh?”
“I look Human to other Humans.”
“Oh? Oh yeah, I guess I should’ve figured it out on my own, shouldn’t I? I mean, you couldn’t just walk around looking all green and bug-eyed and not cause a stir could you?”
“Nope.”
“How can you do that? I mean, why can I see you one way and others see you different?”
“Because I’m a molecular hologram.”
“You’re a what?” I asked.
“A molecular hologram” Nat answered.
“What’s a molecular hologram?”
“An image projected onto molecules to give it shape and form.”
“But you’re standing right here.”
“No, I’m not, I’m actually on Heaven.”
“You’re on Heaven?”
“Yes.”
“Then what am I talking to right now?”
“Me.”
“But I can touch you. How can you be in two places at once?”
“Think of me as an advanced video conferencing device.”
“An advanced…? Oh, you mean one of those video phones where you talk and see the other person at the same time?”
“Exactly, only a little more advanced.”
“This is incredible!”
“Yeah, it’s pretty amazing but don’t worry, you’ll be doing this pretty soon.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It’s just a matter of time. You’ve already got the idea down,
all you need is the science to go from video to holographic to molecular holographic.”
“So.. um… okay, what can you do?”
“Most of the things my physical form could do if I was there.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh, except die, of course.”
“You can’t die?”
“My hologram can’t die.”
“This is totally freaky.”
“You’ll get used to it. Hey, you think maybe we should move on down the stairs and get my kit from the truck?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s probably the right thing to do.”
So me and the molecular-holographic, green-skinned, bug-eyed detective went down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot where his tricked-out police truck was parked.
“Hey, Nat?”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“Can I drive your truck?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve seen you drive.”
“Oh.”
Driving has always brought out the worst in people. In the beginning, when only a few could afford cars, it brought out their arrogance and sense of superiority over the poor shmucks still schlepping around on foot or horseback. As vehicles became more common it brought out their pent up aggression and it remains so today. I guess it only makes sense since, quite frankly, the only place where a four-foot five, ninety-pound person can vent their frustration is in a two-ton motorized piece of steel and fiberglass with the horsepower to run down a cheetah and the moxy to spin out on its dead carcass afterward. I, like everyone else, become a different person when I get behind the steering wheel because there, unlike the outside world, I don’t have to take responsibility for acting like a maniacal despot demanding everyone respect my wishes and get out of my way. If, for some reason, I do come across someone who takes offense to my road-hogging ways I merely keep on driving because, unless the other person happens to be going to the exact same location at the exact same time, I will never need to answer for my actions; unless, of course, they’ve got a gun.
“Is that a shotgun?”
“Yep.”
Memo to self: Do not tailgate large truck with green-skinned, holographic Alien inside.
“Okay, found it. Let’s get back and figure out who those two were” he said, which sounded a little sad considering he used the past tense for the Zombie salesmen.
The idea no two people have the same fingerprint has always been difficult for me to get my head around. Has anyone actually done the research?
I DON’T KNOW?
And what kind of research would it be?
FINGERPRINT RESEARCH.
Would you fingerprint everyone in the world?
YES.
What about the dead people?
OH, YEAH, I GUESS THAT WOULD BE KIND OF DIFFICULT.
Uh-huh, some people might balk at digging up Granny.
We entered the apartment and for some reason the sight of my two fellow salesmen tickled my funny bone. They were sitting on my couch staring straight ahead with their hands folded on their laps, wearing diapers.
“Can we please put some pants on these two?” I asked.
“You can but you’re just going to keep pulling them off unless you don’t mind them sitting in their own waste” said George.
“Tell me again why they keep peeing and pooping?”
“They were under water for quite some time so their cells didn’t get any new blood and they were torn apart so their circulation couldn’t get rid of their waste. When we put them back together and gave them Vampire blood their circulation began getting rid of everything which had accumulated. It’s going to take them a little time to get rid of all the used energy.”
“How exactly did they survive down there?”
“They’re Zombies” George replied.
“So?”
“So, they’re already dead. The Vampire blood keeping them alive is not like regular Human blood, it isn’t being produced by them. It was inserted into them as a stopgap to keep their individual cells alive. Essentially, each cell in their body is working as an independent unit using the energy from the Vampire in order to stay functional. When the Vampire blood runs its course and isn’t replaced they’ll die for real.”
“And how long does Vampire blood work.”
“About three weeks if they’re whole; three days if they’re not.”
“Three days?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum with a mixture of sadness and annoyance. I couldn’t think of a reason why they ended up as they did but, then again, I didn’t really know who they were. I’d only known them for three months and for at least three days of those months they’d been walking around as a bunch of Zombies. I felt somewhat betrayed by the two human jigsaw puzzles.
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? IT WAS YOUR IDEA.
Yeah, but I didn’t know it at the time. It was kind of coming back but was still hazy and wouldn’t have made any sense if it did.
“Hey, Johnny, you want to give me a hand?”
“Sure, Nat, what do you need?”
“I need you to hold Steve’s hand…”
“Steve…” Steve said.
“…so I can fingerprint him”
“Oh, okay” I said and reached down to grab Steve’s hand when…
“Ow! He just bit me! Crap, he won’t quit! Yaaaagghh!”
“Okay, okay, hold on a minute; let’s see if I can just….”
His teeth were latched onto my right hand while the rest of his body was leaning back against my couch but his teeth, now unattached to his gums, were attacking my wrist like some deranged holiday prankster gift.
“… got them!” Nat exclaimed in a victorious way.
“Oh my God! I’ve been bitten by a Zombie! I’ve been bitten by a Zombie!” I kept saying as I ran around my apartment in a frenzied way looking for and receiving absolutely no help from the giggling Vampires and Werewolves who stood around doing nothing.
“What are you all laughing about!”
“Oh… sorry, Johnny” Phillip said before laughing again.
The pain had subsided rather quickly and I found myself shaking my wrist not to relieve any discomfort but to remove the spittle the previously living, chemical supply salesman had left behind.
“What’s going to happen to me? Oh my God! I’m going to turn into a Zombie aren’t I? I’m going to start moaning and trying to eat people’s brains, aren’t I? Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my…”
“Johnny!” Trudy yelled.
“What?”
“You’re not going to turn into a Zombie.”
“I’m not?”
“No, you’re not.”
“Then… then… oh” I remember replying because I had absolutely no reference to rely upon when being told by a Vampire I wasn’t going to turn into a Zombie.
“Let me see your hand” said Trudy.
I held my right hand away from my body as far away as I could and waited for the prognosis I was sure was coming; she was wrong and, yes, I was indeed going to turn into a moaning, brain-yearning, walking dead-man.
“Johnny?”
“Yes, Trudy?”
“You can open your eyes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Open your eyes.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you are eventually going to need to open your eyes.”
I really didn’t want to. Separating what I wanted from reality had always been easy for me. I merely closed my eyes and pictured things as they should’ve been. But the good-looking redhead asked me to, so I did, and was astonished by what I saw.
“There’s no bite mark?”
“No, there’s not” she replied.
“How’s that possible?”
“You’ve evolved, you’re healing powers have advanced.”
“This is so cool!”
“Yes, it is.”
I stared at my
wrist in utter fascination as though seeing it for the first time and probably would’ve remained so, acting like some lunatic on LSD, if it weren’t for something George said.
“Oh, crap!”
I looked over to where he was and saw…
“I pulled his hand off.”
… George standing with Steve’s hand in his. Well, not his hand exactly, his whole left arm. I would venture a guess, and it’s only a guess mind you, Stevie-boy wasn’t fully healed from the tearing apart he got from Phillip but it didn’t seem to bother him for he was just sitting on my couch without his left arm and teeth, drooling like an English bulldog with my blood running down his chin, wearing diapers.
“That’s okay, George, let me just get his index finger while you’ve got it there… that’s it… just roll it around on the ink there…” said Nat.
While George and Nat were doing their detachable hand fingerprinting thing I had a little time to ask Trudy something.
“Trudy?”
“Yes?”
“What’s happening to me?”
“You’re evolving into what you were meant to be.”
“What’s that?”
“A Superior.”
“I thought I was a Supplicant?”
“You are, but a Supplicant is also a Superior. You’ve got the genetics of a Werewolf, you’re body just suppressed the links in your code to survive in the womb with your twin.”
“My code?”
“Your genetic code, everyone is ruled by it.”
“How did my code suppress it?”
“Like anything else, it shut off the switch.”
“Huh?”
“Every cell in your body carries a genetic code, a blueprint as it were, telling the cell exactly what you are to look like, how tall you are, what color your hair is and all the other mundane stuff which makes you who you are.”
“Okay.”
“Every cell carries the exact same information as the other cells; it’s just a heart cell performs the functions of the part of the code relating only to it. It has the information to be a hair cell, for example, but doesn’t use it because it’s a heart cell and not a hair cell. Now, within the code are many bridges and pathways which can be opened or closed depending on the individual such as whether someone is born with, let’s say, blindness. The eye cell has the information to be a perfectly functioning seeing instrument but somewhere in the code a bridge has been shut off and the necessary chemicals needed to perform its function never reach it because they’re told not to.”
“So my code chose not to turn on the Werewolf cells?”
“Something like that. The Werewolf cells you’re talking about are pure and perfect cells used to make muscle tissue or fibroblasts or…”
“What are fibroblasts?”
“Healing cells which repair tissue.”
“You mean the ones which let Phillip get shot in the head and live?”
“Yes, and the ones which let you get bitten by a Zombie and not have the bite marks to prove it.”
The genetic code will change everything but it is so vast and complicated information technology is needed to grasp even the smallest of details so medical science and computer technology are working hand in hand on the process whereby genetic deformities will one day no longer be an affliction.
“Okay, done with Stevie here…”
“Steve…” the hand-craving Zombie cannibal said.
“… let’s get Bob’s fingerprints” Nat said.
“Trudy?”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“What happened to Yin and Yang?”
“They took over the Superior world.”
“They…? Oh, I’ve got to hear this one.”
“Sure, but where was I?”
“I think you were at the part where they were growing up separately and Yang was doing some planning or something.”
“Okay, well, Yin and Yang were separated during their childhood because we couldn’t very well leave them together if they were going to kill every baby Wolf so Yin was raised in the warrior class while Yang was taught differently. Forgive me if I get a little cryptic here because not a whole lot is known about Yang during that particular time. It appears he was brought up in more of a Vampire kind of way; you know, learning how to influence others, how to govern groups of Werewolves, how to blend into the background and other stuff. Yin, on the other hand, we’ve got a lot of information on because he was catching the eye of every Werewolf and Vampire in the area.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why was he catching their eye?”
“Because we’re pack animals, we live in small groups and the more powerful your members the more powerful your group. Our clan system consists of hundreds of different families all ruled by Vampires but it’s the power of the Werewolves which dictate the power of the Vampire. If a Vampire has in her family a very powerful set of Wolves then her family will be accorded a higher place in the hierarchy. Now, Yin was an extremely unique Werewolf, one who’d never been bested in combat and was therefore desired by all the Vamps in the clan but he was also an extremely aggressive so the Vamps needed some assurance he wouldn’t come in and kill their existing Wolves.”
“They do that?”
“They can if they’re powerful enough. They almost never do because they need all the allies they can get in order to keep their families safe from other families wishing to move up the hierarchical ladder but there’s no rule stating one Werewolf in a family cannot challenge another Werewolf at any time.”
“And Yin…?”
“Was capable of challenging any Werewolf anytime, anywhere and winning easily.”
“He was that tough?”
“He was beyond tough, he was perfect.”
“I thought you said all Werewolves were perfect.”
“They are, but there are differing levels of perfection. Take you for example; at your size and weight perfection would be every cell you had functioning without flaw. Now, let’s say it’s so. Do you think you’d stand a chance against Phillip in a fight?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“If I had a bazooka.”
“Really?”
“Oh, come on! You’re not going to even consider the fact I might be able to take him if I had a bazooka?”
“Have you ever fired a bazooka?”
“Okay, never mind, I get your point. My perfection is no match for Phillip’s perfection. There, I said it, are you happy now?”
“I don’t know about happy but I am euphoric.”
“Oh, yeah, the whole Dopamine thing.”
“You heard about that?”
“Uh-huh, Phillip really wanted to try out his stupid ‘high on life’ comment.”
“He really has been trying to use it in a sentence for a long time. Well, anyway, Yin was being courted by just about every Vampire but at the same time the Werewolves in those Vampires’ families were secretly plotting against Yin because they knew he would come in and dominate, if not kill, whichever Wolves were in the family.”
“How were they plotting?”
“They were spreading rumors.”
“Rumors about what?”
“Yin would not accept Vampire authority.”
“Ooh, that’s sneaky.”
“Yes, and totally false as it turns out but at the time nobody knew any better so Yin, the greatest Werewolf ever conceived, was left without a mate which caused him to be a Beta Wolf which led him to seek a mate in another clan which would eventually bring him to war with the clan who raised yet rejected him.”
“What?”
“He found a mate, joined another clan and returned to conquer all.”
“Cool!”
