Mercury Revolts: (Book Four of the Mercury Series)

by Robert Kroese

  “Oh,” said Balderhaz. “Um, no?”

  “Hey, turn it up!” Mercury suddenly yelled. On the TV a reporter was holding up what looked like a tiny computer chip.

  Suzy turned up the volume on the TV. The reporter was saying that given the ongoing threat of a terrorist attack, all residents of Grand Rapids were going to be required to have a small computer chip implanted so that security officials could track their movements. When the reporter was done explaining how safe and innocuous the chips were, he handed the one he’d been holding to a smiling man wearing a Homeland Security uniform. The smiling man put the chip into a device that looked surprisingly like one of those little clicky label makers you can get for three dollars at an office supply store. He pressed the label maker thing against the back of the reporter’s neck. There was a click, and the reporter winced.

  “What do you think?” said the Homeland Security officer.

  “Better than a tetanus shot!” said the reporter.

  They both chuckled, and then the reporter said, “And now, Donna with the weather!”

  Suzy turned the TV off. “Sickening,” she said. “Why do people put up with this shit?”

  “It’s for their own good,” said Michelle. “If you’re not doing anything wrong—”

  “Don’t say it!” screamed Suzy. “I don’t care if you are an archangel. If you say, ‘if you aren’t doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about,’ I will pull those gorgeous brown locks right out of your fucking head!”

  “Try it,” said Michelle, with a smirk.

  Suzy glared at her. “Are you seriously trying to argue that the government has our best interests at heart when you know full well that the government is in the hands of a demon?”

  “Because you put her there!”

  “You’re missing the fucking point!” screamed Suzy. “You’re an archangel. The best of the best. The highest moral authority on this planet. And when you were in charge, you tried to detonate a fucking nuclear bomb in one of your own cities!”

  “The plan,” said Michelle icily, “was to detonate the bomb near the city. Which is exactly what happened.”

  “No thanks to you and the gang of knuckleheads you entrusted with the bomb,” snapped Suzy. “Not to mention the fact that you seem to think it’s totally cool to detonate a nuclear bomb near a major city.”

  Michelle stared daggers at Suzy.

  “And as utterly fucked up as that is,” Suzy went on, “I’m willing to accept that this Tiamat character might actually be an even more heinous bitch than you are. But that’s not the point. The point is that nobody should be trusted with that sort of power. Once you’ve got the capability to track people’s movements twenty-four hours a day, the temptation to try to control their behavior is too great.”

  “Hmm,” said Mercury. Everyone’s eyes turned to him.

  “What do you mean, ‘Hmm,’” said Suzy.

  “Does it seem strange to anyone else that Tiamat would be pushing this RFID thing right now?” Mercury said. “I mean, what’s the point?”

  “Security,” said Suzy. “She wants to know where everyone is at all times.”

  “Everyone in Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

  “For starters,” said Suzy. “Presumably she’ll move on to other cities.”

  Mercury shook his head. “Something doesn’t add up.”

  “I agree,” said Michelle. “Tiamat is overplaying her hand. She has to know there will be major pushback against something like this.”

  “Unless there isn’t,” said Mercury. “Balderhaz!”

  Balderhaz stepped out from behind a curtain. “Eh?”

  “Do you know anything about these tracking chips?”

  “Mmm,” said Balderhaz. “Neural implant chips. Hack right into the central nervous system. Very bad.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Eddie suddenly. “Rosenfeld was working on a story about this for BitterAngels.net. I thought he was going a bit off the reservation, so I didn’t pay much attention. But I remember him talking about some plot to get these chips implanted in everybody. He said the tracking part was just a Trojan horse.”

  “Ugh,” said Mercury.

  “What?” asked Suzy.

  “Nothing,” said Mercury. “Bad memories. I mean, the smell. You have no idea. Go on.”

  “Anyway,” Eddie went on, “Rosenfeld said the RFID thing was just to trick people into getting the chips implanted. He said the real purpose was mind control.”

  “Mind control?” asked Suzy dubiously.

  “That fits,” said Mercury. “Tiamat’s an even bigger control freak than Michelle. No offense.”

  Michelle shrugged.

  “She’s going to chip everybody in Grand Rapids,” Mercury went on. “There won’t be any complaints about the chips, because when she’s done, they’ll all be her puppets. And when the rest of the country sees how happy, well-adjusted and secure the Grand Rapidians are, they’ll be lining up for their own chips. Diabolical. Grand Rapiders.”

  “Grand Rapidites,” offered Eddie.

  “Grand Rapitians,” said Mercury. “Grand Ra—”

  “So what can we do about it?” Suzy interrupted.

  The room fell silent again.

  “The chips are made by some outfit in Utah,” Eddie said after a moment. “Mental something.”

  “Mentaldyne,” said Michelle.

  “OK,” said Suzy. “So we go find this Mentaldyne place and blow it up.”

  Everybody turned to look at Suzy.

  “Weren’t you just insisting a few days ago that you aren’t a terrorist?” asked Mercury.

  “Desperate times,” said Suzy.

  “Blow it up with what?” asked Eddie.

  “Whatever,” said Suzy. “Use your angel powers. Surely between the five of you, you can destroy a building.”

  “It won’t matter,” said Michelle. “It will slow down the production of the chips for a while, but it won’t stop Tiamat. And she’ll use the attack on Mentaldyne as a rationale for more security. I would.”

  “So we’re screwed,” Suzy said. “Tiamat’s going to have absolute control over everyone in the United States, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  The room fell silent again. If anyone could stop Tiamat, it was the six individuals sitting in this room, and none of them had any ideas.

  Chapter Forty

  Washington, D.C.; August 2016

  Zion Johnson stood watching the news while he dressed for his flight. Zion Johnson was well aware that the idea of dressing for a flight was anachronistic; it was pathetically common these days for people to board flights wearing sweatpants or, God forbid, even pajamas. As with most signs of societal decay, Zion Johnson’s reaction was to attempt to hold the line against barbarism by adhering to a strict personal code. So it was that Zion Johnson was tying a double Windsor knot in preparation for a three hour flight from Washington, D.C. to Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  While he did so, the bubble-headed bleach-blond on the TV yammered on about what was happening in Grand Rapids. There had been some skirmishes between the National Guard troops and a few locals resisting the chip implantation. Whoever was currently in charge of the program had resorted to a heavy-handed policy of sending men in combat gear door-to-door to perform the implantations, and it was turning into a PR nightmare. Zion Johnson hoped he could get there in time to reverse the damage. He planned a much subtler, carrot-and-stick approach, setting up convenient implantation centers throughout the city, and linking certain benefits to chip implantation. For example, chipped citizens might get extra food rations or be allowed to travel throughout the city without having to show ID at checkpoints. Since the National Guard now controlled all traffic in and out of the city, the citizens were largely dependent on the government for food and other staples, and they’d long ago become acclimated to police checkpoints. It was the same strategy the government had used on public housing residents: get the people hooked on some government benefit—like bein
g able to eat or move around—and then demand that the recipients prove their worthiness to receive the benefit. It worked every time.

  And of course Zion Johnson planned to make a big show of all the officials running the program—including himself—getting chips implanted. So far the Washington, D.C. authorities and some local bigwigs had resisted implantation, the former on the basis that they were not permanent residents of Grand Rapids and the latter on the grounds that as government officials and pillars of the community, they were above reproach. But that was going to change. Zion Johnson was going to get chipped on national television at the press conference announcing his new position, followed by all of his underlings. Anyone who resisted would be sent back to Washington or fired—and then chipped anyway. So far the elites had gotten a free ride, but Zion Johnson was about to show the people of Grand Rapids that nobody was above being chipped. The program only worked if everyone was on board.

  At least that’s what Zion Johnson kept telling himself. Zion Johnson’s entire life had been defined by following orders. He always did what was asked of him, even if it didn’t necessarily jibe with his personal sense of right and wrong, in service to his country. Zion Johnson always followed orders. And that’s what bothered him.

  Zion Johnson didn’t need to be chipped. He was like a dog who had never once barked in twenty-eight years being fitted for a muzzle. He should be given a medal for all the sacrifices he’d made for his country, and instead he was being put on a leash. Leashes were for the unwashed rabble, the pajama-wearing, Big Gulp-drinking, Walmart-shopping, tramp stamp-having masses. Not for Zion Johnson, who had given everything for his country.

  And yet, why should it bother him? He’d already proved he’d do whatever the president asked of him, even if the president was being manipulated by strange beings from another dimension. He should be happy to be getting chipped. He’d no longer have to worry about overcoming his personal qualms or foibles to serve his country. Absolute obedience would be ensured. His mantra would no longer be necessary.

  Superior attitude, superior state of mind, he thought. What would Mason Storm do?

  Zion Johnson checked his watch. He had three minutes until he needed to leave for the airport. Three minutes in which he could do whatever he wanted.

  Zion Johnson sat down at his computer and brought up his email. Sitting in his inbox was an encrypted file that someone in Tiamat’s organization had sent him the night before. He clicked the Forward button, typed in an email address, and then hit Send. In a separate email he sent the decryption key. Then he shut down the computer, grabbed his suitcase, and walked out the door.

  Zion Johnson had a job to do.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Somewhere in Missouri; August 2016

  The five angels and one human hiding in a farmhouse in Missouri had spent most of the night arguing about how to stop Tiamat and, despite Eddie’s best efforts to keep the discussion on track, engaging in bitter recriminations regarding who was to blame for their current predicament. Suzy and Michelle were the most vocal participants; Perp had little advice to give for once, Balderhaz had disappeared, and Eddie had his hands full keeping Michelle and Suzy from killing each other—or, more accurately, preventing Suzy from punching Michelle and Michelle from vaporizing Suzy with a snap of her fingers.

  During a lull in the finger-pointing and backbiting, Eddie took a break to post an update to the BitterAngels.net site from his phone. He hadn’t seen anything on the news about what had happened to Rosenfeld, and he didn’t feel like he was in a position to break the story at present, so he simply posted a short note explaining that the BitterAngels.net staff were dealing with some “personal issues,” and that they would resume updating the site as soon as possible. The conspiracy-minded frequenters of the site would undoubtedly jump to the conclusion that Rosenfeld had been “disappeared,” which of course he had, and Eddie was totally OK with that.

  The recriminations not yet having resumed in full-force (Suzy, being human, had fallen asleep around seven am, leaving Michelle without a sparring partner), Eddie then checked the BitterAngels.com email address that was posted on the site for readers to use for sending in anonymous tips. Among the penis enlargement remedies, lucrative offers from Nigerian princes, and the usual dire and incomprehensible missives from the tinfoil hat crowd, there were two emails that caught his eye. The subject of the first was simply “Fish.” The subject of the second was “Chips.” Both came from an anonymous email account bearing the name A Freeman.

  “Um, guys?” said Eddie, after decrypting the file and perusing its contents. “I think I might know how to stop Tiamat.”

  After Suzy was awoken and Balderhaz was found (he’d inadvertently trapped himself in the beet cellar), Eddie explained that he’d received a copy of the Mentaldyne specifications for the mind control program, with precise details on how the system worked. Balderhaz had been right: the chips were designed to directly interface with the nervous system, allowing a remote agent to control the thoughts and actions of potentially millions of people. Grand Rapids was only the first step; soon the whole world would be under Tiamat’s control.

  “So far,” said Mercury, “I’m not seeing the good news.”

  “Ah, but here’s the thing,” said Eddie. “The mind control signals are transmitted via a complex array of radio signals, on several different bandwidths. It’s a very delicate system requiring a transmitter specially designed for the purpose. They call it Myrmidon. Ultimately Mentaldyne plans to have a globe-spanning network of satellites for full coverage and redundancy, but at present there’s only a single satellite, parked in geosynchronous orbit over North America.”

  “So,” said Suzy groggily, “we take out that satellite and the whole program is toast.”

  “Well, yes,” said Eddie. “But from this documentation, it’s pretty clear that Mentaldyne is very aware of this weak point in their system. It says, and I quote, ‘It is strongly recommended that BIO personnel be dispatched to protect the geosynchronous transmitter from unauthorized access.’”

  “In other words,” said Michelle, “it’s going to be guarded by angels.”

  “Correct,” said Eddie. “Also, taking out the satellite is only a temporary solution. They’ve got more satellites. They just need to get another one in orbit and they’ll be back in business.”

  “Still waiting for the good news,” said Mercury.

  “OK,” said Eddie. “Now we get to the really interesting part. You know how we couldn’t figure out how Tiamat was circumventing the MEOW device? Well, it turns out she’s got her demons implanted with chips as well.”

  “The same chips as they’re putting in humans?” asked Suzy.

  “Not exactly. They have an added feature, some kind of neural blocker that allows angels to safely remain within the range of the MEOW emissions. But here’s the thing: the underlying chip is the same.”

  “So it has the mind control functionality?” asked Suzy, dubiously. “She implanted mind control chips in her own agents?”

  “I told you,” Mercury said. “She’s a huge control freak.”

  “Well, in this case,” said Eddie, “it could be her downfall. All we need to do is alter the programming of the satellite, and we can take control of every demon in her network. Including Tiamat herself, as a matter of fact. She must have a chip herself, if she’s in Washington, D.C.”

  “OK,” said Suzy. “So how do we do it?”

  It ended up being a bit more complicated than Eddie made it out to be. For one thing, it would require breaking into the Mentaldyne headquarters to directly access the computer system that controlled the satellite. They would have to write a software patch to override the existing program to allow transfer of the mind control program to another location. The control software was thoroughly documented in the material A Freeman had sent, and Suzy was fairly certain that with a computer and a few days, she could write the patch.

  The other complication was that the transmit
ter on the satellite was hard-wired to prevent exactly what they were trying to do: the chips implanted in Tiamat’s demons use a different set of frequencies than the regular chips, and the transmitter was built to only allow transmissions on a pre-determined set of frequencies. Evidently Tiamat wanted to make sure the system was secure before risking losing control of her own agents. It was a smart move, and it made it almost impossible for anyone to take control of Tiamat’s minions. Almost.

  “Oh, I can build another transmitter,” said Balderhaz offhandedly.

  “Really?” asked Suzy.

  “Sure,” he said. “All I need is an old Timex watch, a wire hanger, six rolls of aluminum foil, an oil drum, a banana, a soldering iron, twenty feet of three-quarter-inch PVC pipe…”

  “Hang on!” said Eddie, who was scrambling to find a pen and a sheet of paper.

  “What’s the banana for?” asked Suzy.

  “For the monkey to eat,” said Balderhaz.

  “What monkey?” asked Suzy.

  “Well, you didn’t let me finish the list, did you?” said Balderhaz.

  The other concern was that A Freeman, whoever it was, was setting them up. But there was general agreement that Michelle wouldn’t risk so much simply to capture a few troublemakers, particularly now that her plan was so far along. In any case, they didn’t have much choice: this was their only chance to stop Michelle.

  Mercury and Perp spent most of the day rounding up supplies, starting with a laptop for Suzy and then moving on to Balderhaz’s wide-ranging list of mundane and exotic ingredients. Mercury even found him a black-headed spider monkey, which was inexplicably floating a few inches from the ceiling of the living room shortly after Mercury delivered the poor simian.

  True to his word, though, in three days’ time Balderhaz produced a transmitter designed to transmit radio signals on the precise frequencies used by the chips implanted in Tiamat and her minions. At least that’s what Balderhaz claimed it was. To everyone else, it looked like an oil drum topped by a giant umbrella wrapped in aluminum foil.