Metal Boxes - At the Edge

by Alan Black

  The little girl ran off stage to hug and be swept away by her mother.

  The Prophet stepped to the next person in line. “Teodoro lost his eyesight to a high fever last week. The doctors, as qualified and dedicated as they are, cannot find the cause of his blindness. They say to wait and his vision may return. We—who believe—do not need to wait.” He placed an arm on the man’s shoulder.

  Stone expected to see the nanites crawl from the Prophet into the man. He was surprised when none appeared.

  Suddenly, the man shouted, “I can see. Praise the Prophet. I can see again.” The man kissed the Prophet on the cheek and hugged him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Stone spotted a small stream of nanites ooze from the corners of the man’s eyes disappearing into the Prophet.

  The Prophet smiled and gestured for Charles to guide the man off stage. Moving to the next supplicant the old man stumbled. He caught himself as the crowd caught its breath, keeping upright by the barest of margins. Many tried to rush forward to help, but he waved them back to their seats.

  “Praise be to the enclave. I’m weakening and God is calling me to heaven. Please be patient, my children. I’ve a few tasks to finish while yet in this world.” He stepped to the next supplicant and healed her. And the next. And the next.

  Stone wondered why the nanites did not heal the Prophet. He appeared aged and frail, but not so old that he should not have been cured with ease by his own nanites. After the last supplicant, the Prophet dropped to one knee, looking completely spent.

  Charles helped him to his feet. A simple straight back wood chair rose from below the stage. The Prophet lowered himself onto the chair and sent Charles away.

  With a nod, he said, “I’m finished. Let the enclave begin.”

  Six people walked solemnly onto the stage forming a semi-circle around the Prophet, their backs to the audience. Stone recognized the first man in line. The ambassador from the spaceport could not contain his grin. His face shined with evident glee as the Prophet asked each one in line if they were committed to serving the enclave. The ambassador moved to kneel in front of the Prophet. He lowered his head, letting the old man place a palm flat on the crown of his head.

  The ambassador laughed as the Prophet spoke in a loud voice, “We call upon God to choose or deny this man.”

  Stone watched a thin trickle of nanites flow from the Prophet’s mouth and nose into the ambassador. The ambassador gave a small shudder. The nanites retreated into the Prophet and the ambassador fell over. Blood and fluids oozed from his mouth, nose, and eyes. Stains on his trousers indicated another leakage. As close as he was, Stone could see the man’s eyes were glazed over and his pupils fixed and dilated.

  The Prophet ignored the dead man, as the next man knelt before him. The Prophet said, “We call upon God to choose or deny this man.”

  After a few shudders and convulsions, the man died.

  Stone wanted to leap up to stop this, but both men had volunteered, giving themselves in sacrifice. The whole thing was wrong, but the personal sacrifice was well within a person’s rights, even if it was a false god.

  For a third time, the Prophet said, “We call upon God to choose or deny this man.”

  The third man did not shudder. His spine stiffened and he raised his arms over his head. Jumping to his feet, he pulled the Prophet to his feet and wrapped his arms around the frail old man.

  Stone saw the torrent of nanites, flood from the Prophet into the third person. The Prophet shriveled and dried out before his eyes. The dry husk of a dead human body collapsed to the stage.

  The third man gave a spine-shaking shiver and turned to face the crowd.

  “I bless you all, my children. Our Prophet has gone to his heavenly reward, passing his mantle of believing to me.” The new prophet shouted in exaltation.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The sandalwood fragrance was overpowering. Stone realized the nanites were not mechanical, but biological virions, a programmable virus infecting the host. A nest of virions had just moved from one host to another, killing the old one and claiming ownership of the new.

  The Prophet waved a hand, shouting in triumph. “Heaven awaits all who believe and follow.” A new set of numbers flashed in the air above the stage. The man marched stiffly back and forth across the stage, waving at people, calling out their names. The more he marched and waved, the more natural and fluid the movements became as the virions gained control of the new shell.

  Even after centuries of study, humans only had a minimal understanding of how the brain worked. Neurons and synapses were common knowledge. Electrical currents rushing up and down the spine were understood. How memory was stored and how the brain issued commands to cause a big toe to wiggle was still a mystery. Stone doubted the virions were controlling the Prophet’s mind, but rather killing the brain and replacing it with its own nest.

  The crowd applauded, shouted, whistled, and stomped their feet as the Prophet gave away more credits. The roped off areas up front were filled and emptied. Agnes waved goodbye to Stone as she was led away to heaven, making room down front for new winners. The thumping music was reminiscent of La Rancid back on Lazzaroni. Ushers walked up and down the aisles throwing handfuls of credits to the screaming crowd.

  The Prophet strutted back and forth waving his hand, orchestrating the noise, the lotteries, and the laughter. Suddenly, he stopped. With a movement that belied his age, he did a backflip, landing on his feet with a roar of ecstasy. “Heaven awaits and health abounds,” he shouted. “Charles, bring me the proof.”

  A low growl escaped Peebee. She snorted and snapped her teeth. “Foulness,” she hissed and stomped a foot. Lifting it, she sniffed.

  Even through the rampant garlic and sulfur odor of the crowd, Stone caught the sharp whiff of sandalwood coming from Peebee’s foot.

  She grunted, “They’re tiny and smush easily.”

  Jay stomped her feet a few times, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the Prophet.

  Stone could not see any virions, they were too small to see unless they clustered together in large numbers. Glancing around their velvet-roped enclosure, he noticed Gonzo halt his camera work. His face went slack as he stared at nothing in particular. It was the first time he had seen the man not trying to video something. He had been catching shots of the crowd and Bethy, but now he stared at nothing.

  Suddenly, Gonzo spun around, looking at the stage. It was as if he was seeing the flashing lottery numbers for the first time. Yanking his door prize ticket from a pocket, he gawked at it and then back at the stage. Looking at the camera in his hand, he shouted and pointed it at the stage, not at the Prophet, but at the lottery numbers. A fresh wave of garlic and sulfur wafted through the air from Gonzo.

  The virions were not entering people’s brains to control them. They were stimulating specific emotional centers within the brain. The virion nest calling itself the Prophet provoked specific emotions such as inciting high levels of greed and envy. Inhabiting the fresh, healthy body, the strength of the virion nest increased as it gained more control of its host and surroundings. The stronger the nest became, the farther out it was able to reach to claim new converts—infest them.

  Stone reached toward Bethy intending to drag her to safety, but he held back. She smiled at him and spoke a few notes into the P.A. about a proposed vidcast for a future show. If she was infected, her fragrance had not changed.

  The crowd around them was on their feet, dancing in place, cheering and lost in their revelry.

  He slammed a hand on his P.A. opening communications. He shouted over the crowd noise “Emergency dust off. Hammer, get our people out of here. Dash, get us the hell off this planet.”

  Bethy looked at him like he was crazy. “What are you on about?”

  “There is a deadly virus.”

  Bethy laughed, “Don’t be silly. We—Gonzo! What are you taking vids of? Get that camera focused back on me.”

  Gonzo spun the camera aroun
d, but not at Bethy. He followed a new lottery winner rushing to the stage. The woman was throwing handfuls of credits she had managed to collect from various usher’s baskets back to the crowd, laughing and dancing her way to the front.

  Bethy shouted, “Gonzo!”

  Gonzo remained silent, but the single digit salute he offered her was answer enough.

  Bethy stomped her foot in anger. Dollish appeared as if out of thin air, wrapping his arms around her. Picking her up, he bolted back up the aisle, reaching the building’s entrance at the same time as a cluster of Hammer’s people.

  Tuttle’s voice floated out of his P.A. “I’m coming to you, Boss.”

  “Negative, Barb. Virion contamination. My nanites make me immune, but you’re not. Get out now.” He glanced at Gonzo. The man was lost in a frenzy over the next lottery drawing. If Gonzo was infected, dragging him back to the ship might infect others. As a person, he was more camera than human and hardly worth saving, but he was from the ship. That made him Stone’s responsibility.

  Greed and envy were a deadly combination when out of control. Riots and mass murders had been caused by less. Dragging an infected human aboard ship violated all safety practices.

  “Stone to Numos. We have a viral infection on Holliman’s Rift. It’s—”

  Numos interrupted, “Decon protocols in place. We have you monitored, Signore Stone.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stone should have realized Captain Numos would not leave a large group of his people on the planet without an overwatch. The man probably tapped into every open P.A. for video of the activities from every angle. “It’s the same virion we caught last time.”

  “Roger that,” Numos said. “Medical says the right strain of antibiotics should fix up the infection, but they need patient zero to be sure.”

  “Patient Zero, Dash?”

  “The initial source of the infection. Are you in place to find that person?”

  Stone glanced around him. Jay and Peebee were snorting and growling in an undrasco-like manner. Both had dropped low to the ground, tails over their heads, bone spikes aimed at the Prophet. The crowd around them was oblivious to the rapid departure of everyone from the Platinum Pebble except a few slower-moving ushers who found themselves seated on the floor in a rather non-professional manner.

  Gonzo was enthralled with the rising lottery pots, his neighbors around him were equally focused. The Prophet was dancing around the stage waving his arms, his voice rattling the rafters as he encouraged the winners to race forward to claim their riches. The thumping music and the screaming crowd was no minor competition to his shouting.

  Stone said, “I can get you patient zero, but I need a clean shuttle and two cages. Do you still have those clear plasticrete containers the UEN used to ship Jay and Peebee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Load both on a shuttle. Seal the pilot into the flight deck, but don’t let anyone else aboard. When I pick up patient zero, we have to load fast. The Platinum Pebble is under your command, Captain Numos, but I suggest Preacher Mary and her entire choir with hymnals open, be ready to sing.”

  “Are you expecting trouble getting patient zero?”

  “Yes, Dash.” He glanced around and spotted a side door. “Not so much from the man himself, but I don’t think we’re going to be very popular very soon. If there is a clear space on the southwest corner of the building I’m in, land there.”

  “If there isn’t a clear space, Signore Stone, we’ll make one. I’m not about to try to explain to your grandfather that I left you on some diseased shit-hole of a planet.”

  “Before the shuttle lands give me a sixty-second count to grab patient zero and exit the door. The less time we’re on the ground, the better. If we do this right, no one gets hurt.”

  He pushed Jay and Peebee’s tail spikes out of the way, wrapped an arm around each of their heads, and spoke quietly. Both signaled their understanding with human-like nods and drasco-like wonks of approval.

  The odor of the crowd thickened as if the auditorium’s exhaust fans failed to keep up with the emotions ratcheting higher and higher. The crowd was generating waves of heat. Dark patches of sweat stained everyone’s party outfits, but no one seemed to care.

  Now in addition to flashing lottery numbers, a picture of white sandy beaches now hung above the stage, well over the Prophet’s head. Winners of today’s earlier lotteries were already cavorting in the mild surf, dancing in the sand, turning to wave at the cameras. Agnes was swathed in fancy beach attire and a wide flowered hat. She danced a little jig, smiling so big it looked like her back teeth were trying to escape. The first winners of the day sat under a multicolored umbrella, waving fruity drinks at the camera, their come hither looks no less inviting than the ones used by professional escorts on Risa to entice boatloads of tourists into their sex shops.

  The Prophet shouted, “Heaven awaits. It calls us now.”

  Stone doubted anyone beyond the front row could hear his voice. Overtones of sandalwood wafted through the air, but the fragrance was losing its potency to the garlic and sulfur odors of greed and envy bathing the audience. A new set of winners popped onto the large screen doing little happy dances in the sand as a new winner was announced in the auditorium.

  Stone caught the familiar scent of roses dipped in maple syrup. The smell was so common to Hyrocanians that he turned around to check his backside. There were no four-armed freaks sneaking up on him, but the odor was an indication that someone was about to surrender to murderous intent. Envy of previous winners would be enough to push someone’s killer button. The murderous fragrance was quickly lost in the swirl of odors from the crowd. The frantic emotions of the crowd were reaching a fever pitch. More than one person had already fainted from the heat, the pulsing music, and the flashing lights.

  Stone would lose his window of opportunity to grab his prize and exit out the southwest door if this party came crashing to an end. Several people in the audience were on the verge of violence if their greed was not quickly fulfilled. He planned to be gone while everyone was still focused on the beach scene and the pulsing lottery numbers.

  Another winner was announced and the lottery numbers began spinning wildly. The number it stopped made Stone stare googled-eyed. The number was almost as high as his entire family’s annual income. How could this backwater planet put together such riches? The credits being given away looked like government budget numbers.

  The fresh smell of urine assaulted Stone’s nose. He tore his eyes away from the lottery numbers and saw Gonzo sink to the floor on his knees, his arms stretched toward the screen in silent supplication, uncaring that he had lost control of his bladder.

  A fistfight broke out somewhere at the rear of the auditorium, but a couple of ushers stepped in. Stone barely heard the scuffle, the noise was muffled by screams of delight and ecstasy from men and women alike.

  A voice shouted through Stone’s PA, “Sixty seconds, Boss.”

  He did not recognize the voice, but the warning was simple enough. He slapped Jay and Peebee on the back of their heads. “Go!”

  The drascos thundered out of their spots, racing toward their assignments.

  Stone took one step toward Gonzo, grabbed the man by a shoulder and spun him around. He was surprised at how thin the man was. He was all skin and bones. Yanking him upright, he ignored Gonzo’s protests. He ducked and shoved his head under Gonzo’s ribcage. Wrapping an arm under a damp leg, he lifted him into a fireman’s carry.

  High-stepping through the dancing crowd, Stone raced for the door with Gonzo firmly clamped to his back.

  A baffled usher looked at Stone and raised an arm calling for him to halt. Stone put a boot against the middle of the man’s chest and pushed hard enough to move the man, sending him sprawling backward into a knot of frenzied celebrants. A second usher rushed up the aisle, shouting incoherently. Stone spun in a circle. Gonzo’s feet tapped the man on the shoulder, hard, sending him to the floor.

  As he spun, Stone glanced to
ward the stage. The Prophet was gone. The crowd was oblivious, still chanting, dancing, and squealing over the massive wealth being given away. He spun back toward the door. He could barely see the top of the door over the swirling crowd. Just as he was about to reach the door, Peebee rose from a crouch, wonking and growling like some fierce dragon. Greed and envy were strong emotions but no match for the fear and instinct to survive that flooded the audience near the door.

  Panic set in as people shoved and pushed to get away from the drasco. Peebee ignored the crowd and jumped at the door, hitting it with her back legs. The door splintered, shattered, and shot away.

  Stone was through the open doorway almost before the outside light had the chance to enter the auditorium. Racing at top speed, he heard Jay right behind him.

  “Run, Mama,” Peebee shouted. “LZ at your ten o’clock.”

  Stone angled to his left, spotting a shuttle screaming down toward the planet, its engines driving it faster than gravity could. He spotted Peebee’s landing zone. The small space was not exactly clear, just mostly clear. The shuttle flared at the last minute in a high gravity maneuver that would only be possible with her inertial dampeners on high. The planet’s atmosphere had piled up in front of the shuttle and the resulting concussive wave slammed into a row of unoccupied ground vehicles crushing them to scrap.

  The shuttle ramp dropped to the ground as Peebee bellowed behind Stone. Now was not the time to look behind him. Vaulting into the shuttle, he threw Gonzo into a clear plasticrete cage and slammed the door closed.

  Jumping out of Jay’s way as she raced past with the Prophet held carefully in her arms, he spun back to the hatch. Peebee was still at the door to the auditorium, filling it with her bulk. Bellowing rage, wonking with wild abandon, and gnashing her teeth, she turned and raced toward the shuttle. It would take more courage than most men have to exit that door after Peebee’s wild man-eating dragon performance.