by Brian Blose
Jerome put a finger on the screen, drawing their eyes to the face of one of the punishers. Subtle twitches riddled his otherwise stony features and his gaze moved too rapidly, morphing into a flinch whenever the body before him bucked against its restraints. “They're terrified,” she said.
And they were. Once Hess turned his attention from the victim to the perpetrators, their nerves became obvious. He shuffled through his memory, trying to recall the bindings used on this Observer. Ingrid had been hardly restrained compared to the comprehensive job done to this one.
“Whoever it is has escaped before,” Hess said, pointing to ankle strap, belt strap, arm strap, wrist strap, and neck strap. “He has obviously been a tough case for them.”
His thoughts went to the six Observers still unaccounted for in this world. Mariana didn't possess sufficient ferocity to instill fear in a field mouse. Griff tended to defer to authority of any form. As well as Mel fought with condescension and witty words, he lacked whatever capacity made one a man of action. Greg didn't do well with anything physical. That only left two possibilities.
“Kerzon?”
For a moment, silence. Then a sigh from Elza. “Kerzon can be a magnificent bully, but only one of us could turn the psychological table like that.”
Jerome turned her skull-like face on him. “Will you rescue him?”
“Can I bury him alive after he votes?”
“I would only dig him back up,” Jerome said.
“You know,” Hess said, “I'm not a fan of your morals.”
San snickered suddenly and violently, making a sound like a stalling engine. “Sucks to be on the getting end of it, don't it, Hess?”
“In case you forgot, I spent centuries on the wrong end of moral outrage,” Hess snapped.
San met his words with a smirk. “It's almost enough to make you question your fairy tale version of right and wrong, isn't it?”
“Stop it,” Elza snapped.
“Did I find the line?”
“That's the line, San. Stop antagonizing Hess or get out of my life.”
San folded her arms. “Fine. I'll take it easy on your man. Honestly, how did the Creator decide which of you two to make which sex?”
Elza's back straightened. Hess laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don't,” he said. “I know you value San's friendship – though I doubt even the Creator understands the reason why.”
His woman glanced back at him. “You're going to risk getting caught again so you can save the person you hate most. No one is allowed to ridicule you for your values. Especially not a woman who has none.”
They shared a look for a moment before they returned their attention to San, whose expression had gone empty. She shrugged. “Sorry to set you off, Elza. I won't discuss ethics again.”
Hess pinched the bridge of his nose. “We're going to bring Erik out of there. Because that's the right thing to do.”
They began planning in earnest after that. Hess had been purchasing small arms and ammunition on the black market for months. He had constructed compartments in the gas tank and muffler of his car, stored several of the weapons, then aged the fresh welds with liberal applications of salt water.
Retrieving those weapons would require a bit of brute force, but until then his vehicle would pass any inspection conceived by security forces. Hess had never encountered a guard who was willing to disassemble the components of a luxury car in the name of thoroughness. Vehicle inspections tended to follow a remarkably standardized script, derived from universally practical considerations.
Typically, the occupants were removed from the vehicle for the duration of the search. While they were kept under surveillance, someone would perform an undercarriage inspection using a mirror on the end of a pole, looking for conspicuous evidence such as mysterious containers bolted or taped in place. Another person would investigate the contents of the cab. Often a third individual would search the engine compartment and the trunk. Given the right – or wrong – set of circumstances, someone might go so far as to dump suitcases, slice open upholstery, or take apart the air filter.
That cache of weapons was part of escape plan A. His car would await them in a parking lot located in the section of the Church headquarters closest to the new Interrogation Complex while being outside of the high security zone. They would enter the complex on all terrain vehicles with guns blazing in the immediate aftermath of their nuke's explosion. After retrieving Ingrid and Erik, they would intermix with people running to safety until they reached the car. If they could not reach the car, then they would leave Church property on foot and use motorcycles kept in a storage rental unit to escape the city.
Hess had constructed a number of improvised explosive devices using pipes, gun powder, buckshot, and circuitry from remote controlled toy cars. He also had copious amounts of chlorine gas made from reacting bleach and hydrochloric acid – the production of which twice resulted in painful accidents, one of which proved fatal to him while the other had him wheezing and coughing blood for a time.
The annoying gas leaks happened at every step of the process. When he mixed bleach and acid together in batches inside a glass jug from a water cooler, poisonous vapor would leak before he managed to fit his rigged valve into place to channel the gas into the immense natural gas tank he had prepared for that purpose. When he loaded the chlorine gas from the immense vessel into refrigerant tanks pumped to be functional vacuums, more gas slipped free to cause mischief. And any time he moved the collection of tanks from one place to another, the jostling caused the emission of painfully peppery scents.
Drake, due to boredom or a desire to be helpful or some base need, synthesized a significant quantity of methamphetamine. He tested a sample from each batch of his product, further calling his motives into question. Fortunately, the same space constraints that prevented Hess from making large batches of chlorine gas also prevented Drake from destroying their garage whenever his chemistry equipment eventually exploded. After that incident, Elza threatened Drake with the wrench until he promised to cease all chemistry.
Jerome and San contributed to the group's activities by keeping them supplied with blood for transfusions and performing most of the cooking. The meals provided by Jerome were plain fare such as beans and rice while San created a mix of eclectic masterpieces and inedible experiments. The other Observers raved about her chocolate and tea chicken planks for days, only for San to announce that not only would she never make it again, but she intended to guard the secret of its recipe for the rest of her life.
Throughout everything, Elza worked tirelessly. She melted and recast uranium in molds; created three-dimensional scaffolds of neutron moderators; constructed a mechanism to explosively fire a sub-critical ring from each end of the pipe to thread a sub-critical spike in the center, where a ring of tungsten carbide and beryllium would encircle the combined mass.
Per Elza's explanation of her construction, the wedges of uranium would generate neutrons through radioactive decay. The graphene matrix would bring the ejected neutrons down to speeds where they were more likely to react with the nuclei of other uranium atoms to continue a chain reaction. The ring of neutron reflectors would reflect a portion of the escaping neutrons back to ground zero to renew their efforts. And when the three sub-critical masses met one another, the rate of chain reactions would rapidly accelerate in fractions of a second until their homemade doomsday weapon blossomed into a mushroom cloud laden with radioactive fallout.
Meanwhile, Hess spent time training the others. He covered handgun and rifle marksmanship, deploying tanks of chlorine gas, setting off an IED, urban assault tactics, and gas mask usage. He forced them through drills wearing the masks, accustoming them to the extra effort required for each breath so they wouldn't panic when breathing became hard during their operation and rip off their mask to take a breath of poisonous green gas.
They packed army rucksacks with pipe bombs, bound tanks of chlorine gas to the ATV's with bungee straps, and prepared sp
eed loaders to fill clips with rounds of ammunition at the last minute (because, as Hess stressed to the others, keeping the springs of a clip under constant pressure by storing them loaded was begging for a misfire).
Maps of the Church campus were long since memorized. The idea of using their prodigious stores of methamphetamine as part of their assault had long been ridiculed out of consideration. All that remained was for Elza to complete construction of their opening salvo, which would simultaneously shock and awe the enemy and cut all electronic communications in the region of operations.
Elza finished her work only five months after she began. They celebrated the completion of their weapon of mass destruction in the shop with an elaborate dinner and copious amounts of a Zinfandel chosen by San which tasted like turpentine on first encounter, but transformed into a beautiful, fiery taste sensation under the numbing influence of alcohol. At a later point in their evening of revelry, they christened their nuke, giving it the name Demiurge's Dick after a spirited debate.
“Opposition's bout to get slapped with Demiurge's Dick,” Drake shouted, grabbing his crotch with one hand and throwing the other into the air. He gyrated his hips suggestively.
Jerome giggled until she fell off her seat, for what was at least the fifth time that evening. Drake tried to help her up but landed on the floor with her instead. San slouched forward to pass out on the table. Elza pouted, upset that the name she had put forth, Triumph of Reason, had not won.
She stage whispered to Hess “You'd think the woman who built the damn thing would get to name it.”
When Hess attempted to play the part of the knight errant by spray-painting Elza's chosen moniker on the device's casing, he sprayed himself in the face with yellow paint and declared himself jailed on the charge of painting under the influence.
The next morning, Hess awoke to Elza's frantic curses. He staggered to his feet and ran for the nearest gun. Armed, Hess stumbled about, finger hovering beside the safety as he squinted in every direction.
“Put the gun away,” Elza snapped. “We have an emergency situation here. Demiurge's Dick is on the verge of exploding prematurely.”
Hess lowered his pistol. “I thought you didn't care for that name.”
“That was before it pissed me off.” Elza read the dial of her Geiger counter again. “We can take it apart or we can set it off. Either way, we need to get started right now.”
Hess looked to the gun in his hand. “Then our plan is in motion. Tell the others they have five minutes to get stone cold sober.”
“Hess, I don't want to see you do that.”
His finger slipped the safety. Hess nestled the cold barrel into the tissue of his jaw. “It won't last.”
“Doesn't matter,” she said.
He pulled the trigger.
Once Hess woke up, life restored and hangover free, he put a bullet through the brains of Jerome and Drake, who hadn't followed his instructions to sober up by resurrection. Elza flew around the garage, moving equipment so they could move the mass of steel named Demiurge’s Dick into the SUV without incident. As she passed him, she managed a glare. “All I ask is a little discretion when you do that. I don't want to see you die.”
“You just want me to cease existing,” he said.
Elza spun away. “We agreed not to speak about this.”
“I just find it a little inconsistent that you don't want to see me take a nap for five minutes when you voted to erase us from existence.” Hess rapped his knuckles on a work bench. “We lived lifetimes together, Elza. Thousands of lifetimes. The entire time I thought the two of us were happy. I looked forward to eternity together.”
“My vote wasn't about you,” Elza said, back still to him. “The monotony of existence hurts, Hess. It's a physical pain. You've been like a drug. You take away the worst of it and fill me with happy feelings. But in the final sum, I don't know when the Creator will give us another chance to quit. I had to take the opportunity when it was offered.”
“How can this not be about me? About us? We have hardly been apart save for the odd century. Rejecting your life is rejecting us.”
“No,” Elza said. “This is about opening your eyes in the morning and wishing you still slept. About facing the dawn of a new world and wishing the Creator hadn't bothered. You know what I'm feeling. When you were Zack Vernon . . . .”
“Zack was not me!”
“Really?” Elza turned back to face him. “Why wouldn't Zack let me bury Kerzon alive? Why did Zack marry a woman out of pity? Why would Zack donate a fortune to an orphanage? Why did Zack try to trade his life for Lacey's? I see one hell of a resemblance, no matter what you say.”
“Zack remembered nothing. The moment I came back to myself, I wanted to live as much as ever.”
“For a time, you were Zack Vernon. You wanted to die so bad you manipulated a man into putting a piece of lead through your brain. That was with five years of memories. Try to imagine feeling that way with a hundred thousand plus years of monotonous existence under your belt.”
San cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, awkward conversationalists, you've got an audience. Besides, I thought we were at DEFCON one, charging into battle with swords drawn and all that. The domestic drama can wait until after we take care of business.”
Elza fixed Hess with a steady gaze. “We can discuss this later.”
“As soon as I get back,” he said.
“Just put a pin in it until then.” And Elza was off, bouncing around the garage as if their conversation hadn't happened.
San stood shoulder to shoulder with him and dipped her head in his direction. “Look, hon, we both know relationships aren't my thing, but it's obvious even to me that you need to forget about the voting disagreement of Iteration one four five. The decision isn't going to go the way you want. Sucks, I know. I'd be pissed if I wasn't getting my way. But try to be practical about things for a minute. We're getting our memories wiped after this world ends. That's how things are playing out. Do you really want your last days to be like this? Why don't you just pretend things are okey dokey until the clock runs out? You'll be happier. Elza'll be happier. Everyone's a winner.”
Hess glanced down at San. “I'm not ready to give up.”
“I think you're unique in that regard.”
When Jerome and Drake revived with imprecations on their lips, Hess jumped into the role of leader, deflecting their complaints and directing their energies into loading Demiurge’s Dick into the waiting SUV and attaching the two trailers, each loaded with two ATV's, to pickup trucks.
Hess checked every piece of equipment was in place and informed his team that because they didn't have time to drop off the getaway car, they would need to use escape plan B – use the motorcycles stashed outside of Church property. While conducting a last minute pep talk, Elza broke into their circle to interrupt him.
“Change of plans,” she announced. “Moving Demiurge’s Dick got it dangerously excited. Which is much worse than it sounds, though probably not in the way any of you expect.”
San cocked her head the way she did before a punchline. “Patronize much?”
“Our nuke is going to go off prematurely.”
“Should've called it by it's name that time,” San said.
Elza pointed over her shoulder with a thumb. “If one of the sub-critical masses goes early, we're not talking megatons of explosive power. We're talking run-of-the-mill car bomb. That's one disturbing aspect of the problem. The other is that even if I get the weapon into position without a criticality accident, the firing of the explosive charges will likely cause a premature reaction. I can still try to set it off, but you cannot rely upon this weapon. You need to change your plans.”
San leaned close to Jerome and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “She missed like ten perfect opportunities to deploy the ridiculously childish name right there.”
“This is operation time,” Hess said. “We're not telling jokes anymore. Everything is life and death sta
rting now. All of you signed up for this, so it's time to make good on your commitments.
“We are going in now. Elza will take the nuke to its position as planned. Then she will set about creating an alternate diversion.” Hess pointed at Drake. “Get your meth.”
Elza frowned. “What do you expect me to do with it?”
“Taint the city water or something. Stir up trouble.”
“Even if we had enough to contaminate an entire city's water supply, it would take too long to help us.”
Hess waved his hand. “You'll think up something.”
“I always do, don't I?”
He circled a finger over his head and pointed to the waiting pickup trucks. “Mount up. We're going now.”
Chapter 21 - Erik / Iteration 2
At his insistence, they slept out under the stars that night instead of seeking shelter at a nearby village. When Beeta made advances towards him in the night, Mott performed the duties of a lover with as much passion as he could manage. Apparently, it was enough.
“We are amazing together,” she said.
“Better than normal people.”
“So much better. I think we should keep walking forever. We can stop at a new village at sunset each day, eat a free dinner, then leave after breakfast. If everyone we meet calls us lazy, it still won't matter, because every day we meet new people. Every day we are new people. Don't you think that will be amazing?”
Mott smiled. “We can do anything we want. Anything.”
“That's right. We never have to work. Never have to hold our tongues. If we don't like someone, we can tell them their flaws.”
“Or hit them,” Mott said.
“We can slap them right in the face when we leave in the morning. They won't be able to do anything to us. We can break every rule.”
“We could kill them.”
Beeta smacked his knee. “Don't tease me. We are together now. We are going to be free together. You can't tease me.”
