This class has students, of all ages, from nineteen to fifty-five, all women. They are Christian (Amish, Mennonite, Protestant) and Jewish (Conservative, Hasidic, Orthodox). The head teacher of the class is Rabba Silva, not only one of few female rabbis in the Orthodox Jewish Order, but also a doctor for many years.
"Students, what are we looking at?" she asks. She wears a simple one-piece dress with a red headscarf snuggly wrapped around her head.
The vid-screen shows a blue oval network of lines to the left and rows of various squiggly lines on the right.
Kristiana, a young Amish woman, raises her hand.
"Yes, Kristiana."
"The left is a neuroimage scan and the right, I'm not sure, but it must have to do with the brain too."
"Yes. The left is a neuroimage network scan of a male patient. The right is a series of different brain wave scans, which is what we'll be studying. These wave scans are a sample of our neuro-scanning capability today. What these show is psychosis brought on by prolonged lack of sleep due to stimulant drug use." She touches a button on her left wristband and the vid-screen splits to show another subject. "This is the image and scans of a normal person."
There are gasps.
"Rabba, what would the scans of an irreversible, sleep psychosis look like?" Kristiana asks.
"Excellent question, that is exactly where I am going." The teacher hits her wristband button again. Gasps again in the classroom. "I'm not making any judgments, as we have to avoid that when we're treating a person as medical professionals, but our drug friend is in serious trouble. His recovery may be long, depending how well he responds to treatment and is going to be painful on every level—physically, mentally, and psychologically. If he doesn't succeed, he'll join Mr. Bones there in the corner."
Providence Enclave Hospital
12:15 p.m., 12 January 2093
Sprocket wears a black band over his eyes, from his forehead to his nose; he is completely unable to see. A male Goth gently guides him to a chair in the recovery room. The white room has a fully-equipped bio-bed, and the medic station is right outside. Sprocket sits but seems extremely restless in his long sleeved white cloth top and pants.
The Goth sits opposite him. Next to him is Goth Lila.
"Mr. Sprocket, it is very important that you do not ever attempt to remove the band from your eyes. It is also very important that we keep to your recovery plan," the Goth says. "You are going to have a long recovery. During that time, you will suffer from tremors, agitation, depression, lack of appetite, and a fear of sleeping. We'll have to monitor your body for high blood pressure, fevers, and any weight loss. If you have any headaches, prolonged or otherwise, or experience formication—that's the sensation of something crawling on or under your skin, you are to notify us immediately. You may also suffer spontaneous narcolepsy—fall asleep suddenly no matter where you are or what you're doing, and you may even be woken by violent sleep seizures."
Sprocket may be wearing a visor over his eyes, but it's clear that he's crying now.
"You are at a medical facility and you will be looked after while you're here. You'll never be alone. Part of the treatment is social interaction to fend off any feelings of isolation."
"How long will this last? How long will I be this way?"
"It's up to you. How well you respond. How well you listen to your medics. It's in your hands."
"Where's Goth Lila?"
"I'm right here, Mr. Sprocket," she says.
"Are you going to help me?"
"Help you with what?"
"I told your people. I need to find my bio-dad's boss. His name is Edison Blair. He disappeared too, but I know he and his assistant are on the run and hiding. If I can get to him, he'll tell me what I need to know."
"Your...bio-dad, as you put it, was killed. What else do you need to know?"
"I need details. This Edison guy can get me that."
"Mr. Sprocket, were you listening to what my colleague told you? You are on the borderline of full-scale psychosis. If you can't train your body to sleep normally again, you're dead. Do you understand that?"
"I'm not going to stop now."
"You need to get better first, before you go playing detective. Do you understand?"
"Will you help me?"
"When you recover we can talk."
"How long will it take?"
"There isn't an exact answer. It's different for each person and you can't rush it."
Sprocket is visually upset and starts shaking his head.
"Don't do that," Goth Lila says. "We don't know what normal behavior is for you Pagans. You start gyrating and shaking, we won't know if you're having a seizure or moving to a musical tune in your head."
"I need you to help me find Edison Blair."
"Why do you think we know who that is or that we can find him?"
"You know him, and you know how to find anyone on planet. I know enough to know that."
"Since you're a businessman, Mr. Sprocket, did you track us all these years to plead to our good graces or—"
"I have money and I'll pay. I'll pay for my medical treatment, the lodging you're giving me, and to get me to Edison Blair."
"That's a lot of money you have. I'm not even going to ask what business you're in. Maybe we don't want to get involved with you. This involves the government. You know how much we hate that."
"I'll pay the money for you to help me."
"Why can't your contacts in Outland or Trog-land help you," the other Goth asks.
"They can't help. They're nothing. Everybody outside Tek World knows the best people for secret intel are all Jew-Christians."
The Goths look at each other. "Jew-Christian" is an offensive term to Faithers, but they hold their tongues.
"I'll think about it," Goth Lila says. "You have your recovery, and Edison Blair will likely be in the same place he was today, as he'll be tomorrow, or whenever you decide to recover with your Drug Zombie self."
"I'm not a Drug Zombie. I've only been an occasional puffer all my life, never hard stuff or longer than a minute. You got to stay alert when you spend so much time out of the tek-cities like I do for business."
"Okay, Mr. Sprocket, I'll think about it."
New York City
8:08 a.m., 13 January 2093
New York City still has a security budget larger than all of Washington DC. The White House and the Capitol are the symbols of America, but New York City still remains a primary target of every world terrorist, especially because of the Three Towers. Taller, larger, former President Kree Kanien was impeached over the illegal seizure of land to build them. However, ever since then, New Yorkers are as attached to them as they were to the original Twin Towers built over a century ago and destroyed almost ninety years ago.
Bunny is so tall at six feet and her six-inch heels that every one of her strides is like three steps for the average person. She wears dark glasses; her long, blonde hair, braided into a ponytail, is covered by a frilly hat and she has a pink trench coat on.
There is no such thing as rush-hour on the streets of NYC. It is always rush-hour. The man has been following the Amazon woman for a few blocks. He turns into a corner café after a voice speaks into his ear-set. Bunny has her own security detail. If he continues to follow her, they will notice and start following him. No matter, they know where to find her again.
Providence Enclave Hospital
8:08 a.m., 2 February 2093
Sprocket looks much better than he did weeks before. He is clean-shaven, just as he prefers. He is not moving slow or trembling anymore. Instead of the thick black band around his eyes and head, he is wearing a pair of strap-on goggles, with a very dark tint. Everything he sees is in black and white only.
He is no longer in the recovery area, but a simple hospital room with its own study area. The Goth directs Sprocket to a chair and they both sit by the wall, the room's windows are fully shuttered.
"How are you feeling?"
"Bet
ter," Sprocket answers. "Stronger too."
"The goggles you're wearing must be kept on at all times. When you shower, as your medics showed you, keep the lights on the lowest setting. The goggles regulate the type, brightness, and frequency of the light going to your eyes."
"When will I be able to see colors again?"
"Soon. We're giving your brain a break. Black and white images only, no strong lights, no flashing lights. No photo excitement at all. You remember how bright the colors were in your hallucinations?"
"Yea, very unnatural."
"How are you sleeping?"
"It's hard. I feel like I'm...dead when I sleep, but at least I'm sleeping without waking up all the time like before. I don't think I'm dreaming yet, normally I mean."
"You'll get back to normal."
"When can I go outside? I'm not an inside person at all. I get stir-crazy. I need to be outside."
"We'll take you outside for a walk."
Sprocket smiles. "I'm going to get to walk around in Jew-Christian Land. You should hear the rumors. Tek-dwellers are scared of Trog-land, but Trog-land is scared of Jew-Christian Land. They say no one goes there and comes back alive if you go past Trog-land—if you manage to stay alive in Trog-land. Do you know the Trogs are scared of you?"
"We have some idea."
"They swear you got creatures and monsters to protect your territory. I get to walk around in Jew-Christian Land." He can't help his giddiness.
"One thing, Mr. Sprocket. Don't use that word 'Jew-Christian.' No one is expecting to come across a Pagan here. You say that word to the wrong Jew-Christian, and you'll get punched in the face."
New Amish Square
11:30 a.m., 2 February 2093
Outside the walled enclave of Providence is New Amish Square, the home of a large Amish community relocated here from Lancaster County years ago. Beautiful, wide open prairie with a busy market area, cute rustic homes, large tracts of farming land with a wide variety of crops, grazing land for cows, horses and other livestock, and a network of rivers.
"Is Canada any good?" Sprocket asks the Amish man next to him. A crowd of Amish men and women are waiting for the freighter ship. Amish men wear dark denim pants, light blue shirts, and suspenders, with wide-brim straw hat. Single men are clean-shaven, while married men have beards that they never cut again once married. Amish women wear white bonnets; long-sleeved, calf-length, dark-colored dresses; black shoes; and stockings.
"It wasn't so for my people. We had to leave," the Amish man says. "But you should be fine. You'll have to choose, though. The western part of the country is where the Muslims dominate, the eastern part is where the Star Trek people live and Quebec is home to the French Quebecois who are very militaristic and angry people."
"When did your people leave?"
"Four years ago."
"Fatha." They hear the baby voice and turn to see a little Amish girl running to the man. He picks up his daughter. The girl stares at Sprocket.
"This is Mr. Sprocket, Becca."
Sprocket smiles and waves to her.
"How old is she?"
"Three years old."
"She's a big three years old." Kristiana appears. "Isn't that right, Becca?" She gently pokes her in the belly. Becca laughs.
"This is my wife, Mrs. Price."
"Hello," Sprocket says.
"This is Mr. Sprocket," the husband says.
"Hello. What are you two talking about?" Kristiana asks.
"Canada," Sprocket answers. "I'm thinking of moving there, see some new scenery."
"Asking the Canadian about Canada." Kristiana smiles. "Yes, that's my husband's nickname—the Canadian. He knows all about it."
"Well, not anymore," he says.
"So why are you here, Mr. Sprocket? And why are you wearing those dark goggles?"
"Why are you wearing dark goggles?" Becca repeats.
"Are you some kind of spy, Mr. Sprocket?" Kristiana teases. "I don't like talking to people who hide their eyes. It means they're up to something."
"You're up to something, you crazy trader," Becca says, giggling.
Sprocket starts to laugh. "I'm just visiting."
"Becca," Kristiana says, laughing. "No more 'crazy trader.' You hear me?"
"Yes, Momma." Becca smiles.
"I wonder where Becca is learning all these uncommon phrases from?" her husband asks. He looks at Becca, then at Kristiana.
"Bo-Bear!" Kristiana yells.
"Bo-bear, my teddy bear!" Becca says almost simultaneously.
They both laugh. The Canadian just shakes his head, trying not to laugh.
Kristiana turns her attention back. "Okay, Mr. Sprocket. That's a funny name for a man. Why the dark goggles?"
"I have to wear my dark goggles. If I don't, I'll start to go cuckoo."
Kristiana laughs. "I bet you will." Becca starts to laugh too.
The freighter sky-ship arrives high in the air and begins to descend. It is like a large tanker container with wings. The ship lands in a circular clearing with the rear facing out.
Immediately, the rear doors open and people start to exit—one of them is Goth Lila. A group of men, dressed in blue denim overalls, dark-colored shirts and wearing black fedoras, also exit with large shields on their right arms.
"Who are the guys with the shields?" Sprocket asks.
"Those are Mennonite defenders," the Canadian says.
"Those shields look cool. I bet they could throw them and knock someone on their back."
"Mennonites don't do that. They're pacifists like us Amish. Defenders defend. Their shields use non-lethal technology so they don't have to knock anybody down, Mr. Sprocket."
"Technology?" Sprocket says. "Nobody says technology anymore. That's from the stone ages. Pacifists? All of you are pacifists?"
"Not all of us, Mr. Sprocket," the Canadian says. "The Amish and Mennonite Orders, yes. But if you're looking to get knocked down, there are plenty of Faithers to accommodate you."
"Hey Becca, that's why I'm wearing these dark goggles. They knocked my eyes out!"
Becca starts laughing again.
As dozens of Amish people walk to the freighter sky-ship, the containers are already driving or flying out of the cargo hold by themselves to the pick-up area. The freighter crew and Amish residents check palm tablet manifests. Amish men climb onto the containers and manually take control of the robotic containers to drive them to Market Square. Flying containers touch down on the ground and separate into multiple sections. Each smaller section is also mounted by human drivers to join the small caravan to market.
Sprocket laughs to himself at the contrast of seventeenth and eighteenth century "Jew-Christians" interacting with twenty-first century machines.
He remembers why he doesn't like robots. Machines shouldn't be able to move about on their own and talk back to you. These Faithers have the right idea: keep the machines on a very tight leash. Amen!
Goth Lila stands to the side as the remaining ship's cargo crew lead out the remaining self-driving confidential cargo containers.
"Umm...Mrs. Goth Lila."
She turns to see a simply dressed man in burgundy clothes waiting for her. He's wearing a silver, open football helmet. It's covered with tinfoil.
"It's Pagan Paul, is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"I haven't seen you in a while. I thought you didn't like to be near large machines."
"I don't, but I have my helmet this time."
"Yes, I see that. What do you need?"
"I need...some advice."
"Advice? From me? Hold on a minute." She notices two Goths waiting for her about ten feet away. "Talk fast, Mr. Pagan Paul."
"Well...the Goths are not really an Order at all like the Amish or Protestants or Conservative Jews or Shamar or—"
"I get your point. Go on."
"There aren't many people like me at all in Faith World. Agnostics and...you see I used to serve an important function within the Amish. I was a prot
ector. I protected them from bad people and I fixed and maintained their tek, but now...The Mennonite Order had a big leadership convention and they have the Defenders now...to protect Amish and Mennonites with non-lethal tek. They're like a security force for Anabaptists, Amish, and Mennonites. The Amish had a leadership convention too, and they're allowing medical study and medical tek to help others. And more of them are allowed to go to school to become mechanics, so they can fix all their own advanced tek."
"You feel left out?"
"I don't have a purpose anymore. I want to be useful. How can I do that?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"I don't know what to do."
"You want to organize all the agnostics in Faith World? Is that what you want?"
He perks up. "Maybe. Maybe if we could all sit down together, we could come up with ideas. Just like the Goths did."
"I'll see how I can help."
"I don't want anyone to know. I don't want the Amish or the Christians to think I'm ungrateful. This is my home and they're my friends."
"I won't tell a soul. Let me finish my work and I'll be in contact again soon."
Pagan Paul smiles as he nods a few times. "Thank you." He hurries off. The first time she saw him and his "tinfoil" helmet she wanted to laugh. Then she learned why he "needed" it whenever he had to go near machines. He was genuinely terrified of going near any tek-city—electromagnetic hypersensitivity syndrome. Even today, the "reality" of the affliction was debated. Can invisible, electromagnetic waves really cause some humans physical or psychological damage?
Goth Lila walks from the freighter ship towards two Goths waiting for her. As she nears them, she sees Kristiana and waves to her and her family; Becca waves with both arms. Sprocket sees her and gives her a salute.
"Silly Pagan," she says to herself. She reaches her colleagues.
"We found her," one of the Goths says. "In New York City."
Lila is incredulous. "She's hiding in New York City?"
"Yes."
Metal Flesh (After Eden Series: Tek-Fall, Episode I) Page 4
