Forced Conversion
Page 23
Four eyes scanned the dials, screens, and read-outs. Four hands moved with speed and alacrity over the relays and controls. Finally, the alarm broke off and the two techs isolated the cause. Now their awe was compounded a thousand-fold.
They discovered that when old 5629 rang the bell, the force and the harmonics of the vibration had sent a thin crack branching out from the top of the door, spidering up to the arid, barren reaches at the top of the mountain. Too small to even be seen, it had been nevertheless been detected by the silent, smooth computer monitoring the situation. The tiny break would be enough to doom the contents of the mountain to destruction. Radiation would leak in through the rock’s imperfection and degrade the computer code. Water and air would seep into the microscopic fissures and the cracks would enlarge. It would take time, but eternity tolerated no corruption.
It would be the end of Yucca Mountain.
“I’ll be damned,” said the junior tech, flabbergasted by what he had just witnessed.
“Not unless that’s the world you choose,” chuckled his boss. “That’s why you run these things. Sometimes the impact of a variable just isn’t intuitive.”
“You can say that again,” responded the junior tech.
“Now you know why I didn’t stop things when that psycho mal chick ran out into the fire or when she slaughtered most of the ConFoe squad. You can just never tell. A good watchman knows you can just never tell.” He shrugged absently. The excitement was over; it was back to the normal routine.. “Time to reconfigure. Revise and reload the inputs and try again.”
The junior tech reached forward and pushed a button.
Reset.
* * * * *
As the Army of the Believers surged over the bones of the damned to assault Yucca Mountain, there was a bright flash of light and the world disintegrated away.
* * * * *
The insipid ConFoe recruiting jingle looped merrily and endlessly through Derek’s mind as he moved forward through the dry grass and tangles of the alpine valley.
“One Family. One Volunteer.”
You’d think a pleasant walk in the woods wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t, except for the fact that he was on point and there were people out there, mals, who wanted him dead. So he strained to put the incessant jingle out of his mind and focus on his job—checking for tripwires, searching for tracks, scanning the trees on the other side of the valley for movement or shadows that just weren’t right.
It had been exhilarating at first, when he was a raw recruit, but he had been doing it for four . . . or was it five? . . . years now. He couldn’t remember any more. It seemed like forever.
These days, he just endured his service as best he could. It wasn’t easy. He grew to despise the Conversion Forces more and more with each patrol, to hate his miserable existence even more with each passing day. His duty in the Conversion Forces was like the stupid jingle—you just couldn’t escape it, no matter how much you wished you could. You longed for a respite, a distraction, to take you away from it, but you never got a break. It just continued endlessly on.
It wasn’t just the stress of the ConFoe patrols that he hated, it was the things he had to do and the things he had seen others do. Things they didn’t really have to do, but seemed to enjoy.
“One Family. One Volunteer.”
He took a step forward.
“One Family. One Volunteer.”
Another step.
“One Family. One Volunteer.
One.
Two.
Three bursts of automatic weapon fire exploded suddenly from the other side of a small creek, ripping into the dirt at his feet and tearing through the branches of a nearby Ponderosa pine, sending a puff of yellow, powdery pollen into the air.
Derek dove for the ground and elbowed his way behind the imposing trunk of the nearest tree, his eyes streaming in irritation from the pollen and the panic that was rising in his mind. From the location of the attack and the sound of the weapons, he knew he had almost certainly fallen into an ambush by one of the mal religious cults. Now he was pinned down by coordinated fire, with no hope of saving himself. He just had to hunker down and wait for his squad—his miserable excuse of a squad of vicious misfits and apathetic recruits—to save his sorry ass.
He tried to calm himself down while he waited for his salvation by calculating the time left in his tour of duty, but he was too pumped up by the situation to think it through clearly. All he knew was that it wasn’t forever. His tour would end in another year . . . two tops. Then he would go join Katy and his mom in Alpha Two forever. He would live in that world forever . . .
And life would be good.
And when he went to Alpha Two, this pathetic, miserable world would all just seem like a bad dream. He wished that he could wake up there right now, that he could move on to Alpha Two this instant, that he could see his Katy once again.
But right now he was pinned down by some unknown, sinister force.
He couldn’t move.
* * * * *
It was a gorgeous summer day. The sun smiled warmly down from a cloud-dotted sky. A lazy breeze wafted over the sparkling, clear water of the forest lake, bestowing just enough of a hint of coolness to keep the assembled throng of guests, family, and friends from perspiring as they waited for the ceremony to begin.
Though there was always much joy in this place, the occasion of the gathering increased it, lifting the throng to a sense of contentment and well-being that they had once never believed possible. Indeed, the only hint of sadness came from the individual who was the focus of the day’s activities, as she peeked out from behind the flower-bedecked trellis that marked the starting place of her short but meaningful trip down the aisle.
She had no real right to expect him to be here to give her away. The time had come and gone for her brother’s return years ago. Still, hope knows no reason, no rationality. That is what makes it hope, rather than mere expectation.
Her mother kissed her lightly on the forehead as the music started, then preceded her down to the edge of the lake, before the assembled guests. A few moments later, it was her turn to make the brief journey. All eyes turned toward her.
Katy walked down the aisle alone.
Derek was not here. He would not give her away. He would not see her joy.
She had finally come to realize he might never join her and their mom on Alpha Two. Not today; not ever.
But he had given her a gift, not just for today, but for every day of her life.
Because of him, she could move.
It saddened her that she would never know Derek’s fate. She hoped that, whatever had befallen him, his death had been quick and painless, that he had not lingered and suffered.
A few minutes later, Katy’s union with her betrothed was blessed as she vowed to love him forever, ‘til the end of time . . .
Or, at least until the sun goes supernova.
The End
Acknowledgments
I hadn’t really planned on writing a book. It’s actually Jean Rabe’s fault I did.
Jean encouraged my first foray into fiction, a tournament scenario for the Paranoia role playing game system. More tournaments followed, for the Paranoia, Bond, Timemaster, Chill, Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, Dream Park, and even Battle Cattle game systems. All were an outgrowth of my activity on the RPGA® (Role Playing Game Association) Network’s sanctioned tournament circuit (where I was the top-ranked player in the world for fifteen years). Many of the tournaments were specifically requested by Jean. These led to writing adventures and source material for various of the role playing game companies, many with Jean as an instigator, editor, or collaborator. I eventually converted one of the game tournaments into a screenplay and started doing movie reviews for Knights of the Dinner Table, a comic book for role playing gamers.
When I turned to short stories, again Jean was there. She published a science fiction story of mine in MechForce® Quarterly and, with a few changes, got another publi
shed in an anthology edited by Margaret Weis (Earth, Wind, Fire, Water: Tales of the Eternal Archives #2). More stories (one of novella length) followed in more anthologies (Civil War Fantastic, Historical Hauntings, The Search for Magic, Sol’s Children, The Players of Gilean, Carnival, Renaissance Faire, and All Hell Breaking Loose), some of which stories were edited by Jean (or someone I met through her) and some of which were simply instigated by her. These anthologies resulted in my introduction to John Helfers at Tekno Books. Between these sporadic stories, I worked on a treatment for a science fiction television series and on my second screenplay, Extreme Global Warming, which later got converted into my second novel, GREENSWORD.
Finally, it was Jean who convinced me to attend World Horror Con in 2002 and sign up for one of the pitch sessions with a science fiction editor, even though I had no book to pitch, nothing but a couple-page outline of an old story idea set in a world with a fair amount of backstory. The editor seemed so interested that it motivated me to actually write the book, this book. My contacts through Jean paid off again when John Helfers agreed to read my book and quickly connected me up with Five Star.
Of course, you don’t go from a pitch to a book without a lot of help in between. Special thanks go to all of those who read and made comments on drafts of the book: Lenora Anderson, Bob and Terri Bielinski, James Bingle, Linda Bingle, Dewey Frech, John Helfers, Randall Lemon, Barb and Rich Letterman, Jean Rabe, Paul Stevens, Susan Wagner-Fleming, Tim White, and Mary Zalapi. Thanks also to: Cheryl Frech, Ken Ritchart, Beth Vaughan, and Patty Villasenor, as well as to all my gaming friends in Chicago, Denver, and elsewhere, my family, my colleagues and clients at Bell, Boyd & Lloyd (where I work as a corporate and securities lawyer), and my fellow writers at the St. Charles Writers Group for their support and encouragement during the process.
John Helfers has been the most relaxed, open, friendly, decisive, and helpful editor you could possibly imagine. Even more, he has incredibly fast turnaround and always is there when you need him.
I couldn’t possibly have written this book or anything else without the support and encouragement of my lovely and creative wife, Linda, who tolerated with good grace the hours I spent apart from her, cooped up in my office with the computer, unable to be disturbed in any way, because I was in “writer mode.” She also helped enormously by commenting on numerous drafts and by making suggestions and drawings for several possible cover ideas. Hugs also go to Smoosh, Mauka, and Makai for sleeping by my feet while I was typing and not insisting on going for walks too often.
Finally, thanks to Tekno Books and Five Star Publishing for being willing to take a chance on a first novel. Please support them and all of their authors by buying their fine products or convincing your local library to do so.
Some time has passed since I first wrote these acknowledgments and I’m happy to say that I’m still writing, now with five books and more than fifty shorter stories published in the thriller, science fiction, mystery, fantasy, steampunk, romance, comedy, and memoir genres, including The Love-Haight Case Files, co-authored by ... you guessed it ... Jean Rabe. Links to many of those items appear after these acknowledgments.
This most recent e-book and trade paperback version of Forced Conversion includes a new cover designed by Brent Meske, which includes background initially created by Σ64 licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported license.
Donald J. Bingle
March 2004, Amended June 2016
Novels by Donald J. Bingle:
Forced Conversion
GREENSWORD: A Tale of Extreme Global Warming
Net Impact
Frame Shop: Critiquing Another Writer Can Be Murder
The Love-Haight Case Files (with Jean Rabe)
Stories and Story Collections by Donald J. Bingle
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 1, Tales of Gamers and Gaming
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 2, Tales of Humorous Horror
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 3, Tales Out of Time
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 4, Grim, Fair e-Tales
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 5, Tales of an Altered Past Powered by Romance, Horror, and Steam
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 6, Not-So-Heroic Fantasy
Writer on Demand™ Vol. 7, Shadow Realities
Crimson Life/Crimson Death
Season's Critiquings
Merry Mark-Up
Holiday Workshopping
Gentlemanly Horrors of Mine Alone
Running Free: A Tale Inspired by Patsy Ann
MAKESHIFT
Knowing She Would
Father's Day Deluxe 3-Pack
Also from 54°40’ Orphyte, Inc.
Familiar Spirits, edited by Donald J. Bingle
Ratfish by Buck Hanno
Surrounded by Love: A Story of Orphans and Family by Marjorie L. Bingle