by MacGuffin, WJ; Hanrahan, Gareth; Varney, Allen; Ingber, Greg
Michael was pointing the laser rifle at Clarence’s head. “Looking forward to working with you.”
“Likewise,” said Clarence politely, as one does to those pointing laser rifles at one’s head.
“And in the role of Bad Cop is my other colleague, Georgina-G. She’s been recording you since you treasonously entered the air recycling chamber.”
“Great footage!” Georgina waved her camera.
“Wait, they’re both Bad Cops?”
“That’s correct.”
“The Good Cop is you, then?”
The officer leaned closer and grinned. “I’m Roberto-G, and for today’s interrogation, I will be playing the part of Insanely Bad Cop.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh.’ Now, do you know your part?”
“Innocent Victim Released Without Harm?”
The officers laughed. “Good one!” said Roberto-G. “Everyone ready? Good. Annnd—start scene.”
Michael-G shoved the rifle barrel into Clarence’s face. “What were you doing in there, traitor?”
Clarence began to sweat. “I’m just trying to finish a job!”
“Which job was that?” Georgina moved to capture the sheen of Clarence’s forehead. “The job of sabotaging Alpha Complex?”
“No! It’s—well—I had a job to help some Troubleshooters and when I got there I helped them set a trap but then I needed the team leader’s signature but he was dying and badly dressed and he wouldn’t sign my form unless I took this strange box to an escalator and I agreed just to get his signature but when I went into the closet they told me I had to join their secret society but I didn’t want to join their secret society but they told me I had to put pollen in the air recycling system and I agreed just so I didn’t have to join and so I came here and-and-and I want to go home now please.”
The three officers were stunned. “That is some impressive vocal work!” said Roberto. “You said all of that in one breath! Do you have theater training? Because we’re looking for a fourth person to join our acting troupe.”
Georgina fretted. “How can we cast him if he’s locked up in a Joyful Liberation of Guilt cell?”
Michael frowned. “He would have made a perfect Traitor Who Recants His Disloyal Ways Upon His Deathbed.”
Roberto mused. “What if we asked Friend Computer to cut his tort- I mean, re-education—short? He’d be released just before our run of The Disloyal Loyalist!”
“Good idea!” Georgina started taking Clarence head shots, full-face and three-quarter profile.
Roberto looked up. “Friend Computer? Internal Security agent Roberto-G-IRK-3 reporting.”
A soft chime. The Computer was always readily available to Internal Security, sometimes more readily than citizens preferred.
GREETINGS, CITIZEN! HOW MAY I HELP MAKE YOUR DAY MORE HAPPY?
“Reporting from the We Breathe Together air recycling center in GHJ Sector. We have apprehended a traitor attempting to poison the air supply for this sector. Request permission to suspend termination, reduce his re-education to two weeks, and sequester his mandatory volunteer hours as part of our Amateur Loyalty Theater Troupe.”
PROCESSING. PLEASE STATE THE TRAITOR’S NAME.
Michael nudged Clarence with the laser rifle. “That’s your cue.”
“Me? I’m Clarence-Y-SKL-1, Friend Computer! Please don’t terminate me!”
PROCESSING. CITIZEN CLARENCE-Y-SKL-1 HAS NO RECORD OF CONFIRMED ACTS OF TREASON; 56 RECORDS OF POSSIBLE ACTS OF TREASON AS ADDUCED FROM STATISTICAL ANALYSIS OF PURCHASING TRENDS AND TRASH; AND 1,183 RECORDS OF PURELY HYPOTHETICAL TREASON AS DEDUCED BY RANDOM NUMBER GENERATION. REQUEST GRANTED. PLEASE ESCORT CITIZEN CLARENCE-Y-SKL-1 TO THE JOYFUL LIBERATION OF GUILT FACILITY IN—PROCESSING. PLEASE WAIT.
Everyone looked confused. The Computer only tells you to wait when an Internal Security team is on the way to terminate you, and they were already here.
“Roberto-G?” asked Georgina. “Line, please?”
The soft chime sounded a second time.
CITIZEN ROBERTO-G-IRK-3, YOU ARE HEREBY FINED 100 CREDITS FOR FALSE ARREST. A NOTATION HAS BEEN PLACED IN YOUR PERMANENT RECORD FOR TRYING TO ARREST A LOYAL CITIZEN WHO—PROCESSING—WHO HAS DONE NOTHING WRONG. PLEASE RELEASE CITIZEN CLARENCE-Y-SKL-1 IMMEDIATELY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
Frowning, Roberto leaned close to Clarence. He whispered, “I see you have friends in high places.”
Clarence was stunned. “No I don’t. I don’t have friends in any places!”
The officers shoved him against a wall, as if for luck, then left.
Taking another way, Clarence sprinted out of the center, stopping only to correct a passerby who was violating Mandate CPPM 492.00/e. Then he rushed back to the Buyatorium.
He arrived breathless and bedraggled. On his way to Escalator 13, he paused at a mirror in Loyalty Hats to straighten his jumpsuit. This will be fine. I did the job, I’ll show them the picture—
He reeled back. He’d forgotten to record himself releasing the pollen. He nearly spoke certain words that would have violated many HPD&MC Speech Control mandates. With sinking heart Clarence continued to Escalator 13—
—Where a dozen IntSec officers surrounded the closet door, and the Sierra Club members knelt on the floor with their hands behind their heads.
He ducked behind a mannequin dressed in the latest approved jumpsuit style (unchanged for over 100 years). This is bad. Very bad. Not ISPM 1095.32/b bad, but definitely worse than ISPM 229.56/c. What to do?
Mandates, mandates, find a mandate that applies. Mandates help. Mandates are our friends. Okay, what about ISTM 444.32/a? No. Even if he found the apple and bucket of industrial solvent in the Buyatorium, he’d have to buy them first, and he’d get nabbed as soon as he paid. PSPM 676.01/a? Does the Buyatorium even stock fissile materials? CPTM 2003.31/n? No! He didn’t even know what “a live chicken” meant.
A voice behind him. “Excuse me.”
“Oh, sorry.” Clarence moved aside for the shopper. What about PLPM 083.22/d? He’d need a tray of sticky buns. Which way to the Bakery department?
“Excuse me,” the voice repeated.
“Sorry again.” The directorybot! Of course! He could use TSTM 104.99/a to force the bot to escort him to Bakery, and the screen was tall enough to hide him! He’d get the buns, find a confession booth—
“Excuse me!” Now the voice was agitated.
“What?” Clarence looked up—
—at a GREEN goon pointing a laser pistol. “I was going to ask why you’re hiding, but given your attitude, I believe I’ll just arrest you first and ask questions later. Perhaps much later. Move.”
Clarence stood up and raised his hands. The goon marched him to Escalator 13 and the captive Sierra Clubbers. then pushed him to his knees before a BLUE IntSec officer. The goon said, “I found this traitor hiding nearby. I distinctly heard him plotting to blow up his comrades, and ourselves, to protect his dark, dirty secrets.”
“Well done,” the BLUE said. “Evidence?”
“Give me a few minutes.”
“Very good, carry on.”
“Welcome back,” Brother Bite said. “My knife and I were just talking about you.”
For some odd reason Clarence wondered what they’d done with the creature. “Excuse me? Officer? I don’t belong here with these traitors. Can anyone authorize my departure?”
The BLUE was tutoring the goons as they modified photos of the Foaming Cleanser Disaster of Year 209 to incorporate Clarence. “Really, Yellowpants? Are you saying a GREEN Internal Security agent, trained for over a week, has made a mistake?”
“Umm—yes?”
“Then you are making—ah—” The agent sneezed. “Excuse me. Then you are making an official complaint of Internal Security malfeasance under Mandate ISPM 061.11?”
“No, that mandate covers bake sales to raise funds for executions by lethal injection. You’re thinking of Mandate ISPM 051.11/a. I just mean I’ve been put here by mista
ke because I’m not part of the Sierra Club. Isn’t that right, Sister Sunrise?”
Sister Sunrise nodded. “Correct. This citizen, whom we had provisionally designated Thin Weed—” (Clarence wondered how to feel about being a Thin Weed.) “—just finished our rite—um, our ritual activity of initiation into the Sierra Club so as not to join us. And no, it doesn’t make sense to me either.”
More IntSec agents began sneezing. One had a visible rash. The BLUE agent’s PDC buzzed with multiple reports. “Something is wrong—two reporting illness—I cannot stop sneezahchoo—great prices on truncheons—itching all over—what do we do?”
The BLUE agent grabbed his PDC. “Attention all Interchoo! Attention ahchoo! All Internal Securahchoo! Fall back! Repeat, fall bahchoo! Attack by unknown mutant power causahchoo! Fall back!”
Wheezing and scratching, the IntSec agents forced their way down the aisles and out of the Buyatorium. Soon torrents of sneezing shoppers were stampeding for the exits. It looked like a Madhouse Holiday Sector-Wide Exclusive Sale on the season’s must-have gift item, Plush Scrubot with Working Soapy Scrubbers, except the buyers were heading out, not in, and no tankbots were working crowd control.
Clarence looked at the Sierra Clubbers, who were smiling. “This has something to do with that pollen stuff you forced on me, right? Then why aren’t ahchoo!” He sneezed five times rapidly. His face turned bright red.
Brother Dark took a syringe from a shirt pocket and injected Clarence in the shoulder. He tried to protest but was having trouble breathing. Then the feeling went away. His eyes stopped watering and his nose stopped itching.
“Antihistamine,” said Brother Dark. “Easier to love nature when not dying from it.”
The other two Sierra Clubbers began emptying the closet’s boxes into a shopping cart. “You obviously did your job,” said Brother Bite, “so we don’t need a picture. And you went above and beyond what we asked. Although my knife hates to admit it, you saved us, Thin Weed.”
“Well—ah—don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t mean to.”
Sister Sunrise reached into the shopping cart for a familiar-looking box. “Regardless, Mother Nature has guided you to us. You are now a full member of the Sierra Club, and this is your new duty.” She held out the box to him.
“No no no! The whole point was to—wait, is that the box I brought you?”
“Yes,” Brother Bite said. “Caring for this mouse will remind you of your commitment to our secret society. And if you hurt Ignatius in any way, my knife will be very cross with you. Understood?”
Clarence carefully took the box and looked inside. The creature—the mouse—was still there, looking up at him. “Ignatius”—he liked the name. He closed the box and smiled. “I don’t think your knife has to worry.”
Slam! A metal gate slammed down from the ceiling between the registers and the exit. Through the empty store a soft chime echoed.
ATTENTION, SHOPPERS. THIS IS THE COMPUTER. THERE IS NEED FOR ALARM. THIS STORE HAS BEEN CONTAMINATED BY COMMUNISM, MUTANTS, OR SIMILAR TRAITORS, AND IN NUMBER MINUTES A DEADLY GAS WILL FLOOD THE STORE. PLEASE FINISH YOUR SHOPPING AND PROCEED TO THE REGISTERS IN AN ORDERLY MANNER. FRIENDLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WILL ASSIST YOU IN LEAVING THE STORE. THANK YOU FOR NOT RIOTING.
The Sierra Clubbers and Clarence ran towards the front of the store. Ahead, the metal gate blocked the exit. A lone RED Buyatorium cashier stood beyond, holding a wireless device.
Clarence dashed past the registers. “Citizen! Open the gate!”
“Of course, friend,” said the RED cashier cheerfully. “I’ll be happy to help, once I confirm you and your friends are not traitors. Because, if you are, then you should be dying from the poison gas. Am I right?”
NUMBER MINUTES REMAINING. IF PAYING BY CHECK, PLEASE USE REGISTER 61 ONLY.
Clarence and the Sierra Clubbers reached the metal gate. “RED citizen, I am YELLOW Clearance! Open this gate immediately or by Mandate CPPM 016.94/a-e, I will have you reassigned as reactor shielding!”
“Right away. Just need proof of loyalty from my new friends. Hope you understand. I’d lose my job if I didn’t follow temporary mandates from my boss, am I right?”
The simple words spoke to Clarence’s heart. “Blast! He’s got us.”
Brother Bite took out his knife. “Is this proof, you wretched little scrubot?”
“The knife cannot reach me, so no, friend.”
“What about pyrokinesis?” Sister Sunrise’s eyes rolled back until they were all white. A tiny spot on the RED agent’s jumpsuit turned brown and smoldered.
“Mutant powers are not proof of loyalty.” He patted the fire out. “In fact, unregistered powers are proof of treason. Am I right?”
Clarence grabbed the gate and pulled as hard as he could. It didn’t budge. He looked up and noticed a solid wall descending.
NUMBER SECONDS REMAINING. IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED YOUR SHOPPING AND YOU WISH TO RETAIN YOUR CURRENT CLONE, PLEASE SPEAK TO AN INTERNAL SECURITY AGENT IMMEDIATELY. REMEMBER, CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION IS TRUE LOYALTY.
“That’s it!” Clarence ran to the shopping cart full of treasonous Sierra Club materials. “RED citizen! This shopping cart is full of stuff we are taking out of the Buyatorium.” By using “taking” instead of “buying,” he technically told the truth. “This is evidence of consumerism as defined by Mandate CPTM 303.28/b. Consumerism is a loyal way to aid the economy and Alpha Complex citizens as defined by Mandate PLPM 004.98/f. Therefore, we are loyal citizens. Now open the gate!”
The RED cashier paused to think through the logic. “Do you have a receipt?”
Clarence looked at the looming wall. Its stenciled letters read STORE CLOSED FOR TRAITOR FUMIGATION. “Everything in the cart is beyond your security clearance.” Since it’s all illegal, that’s also technically true. “If I showed you a receipt, you’d have to be terminated. I can do that if you like.”
The barrier was less than two meters from the floor.
The RED cashier nodded and pressed a button on the wireless device. The metal gate lifted.
Clarence and the Sierra Clubbers scrambled through the opening as the fumigation wall descended. They got the shopping cart through just in time. The wall slammed to the floor.
ERROR-NOT-A-NUMBER TIME REMAINING. DEADLY GAS NOW FLOODING THE STORE. PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SCUBA EQUIPMENT IN THE WATER FUN DEPARTMENT TO SURVIVE THE GAS. THANK YOU FOR DYING EFFICIENTLY.
His job done, the RED cashier smiled and walked away. Brother Bite watched him leave. “If you’ll excuse me, my knife wants a word with that RED citizen.” He followed the cashier.
Sister Sunrise put a hand on Clarence’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Sierra Club, Brother Thin Flowering Weed That Grows in Neat Orderly Rows. We’ll be in touch.” With that, Sister Sunrise and Brother Dark went after Brother Bite.
Alone in the empty atrium, Clarence peeked in the box. The mouse seemed fine. Whistling a happiness hymn, the Yellowpants started to leave. Several jobs today. Now I have a new one—take care of my little furry friend.
Then, a mental avalanche. Keeping the mouse violated many, many mandates! ISPM 449.20/r—HPPM 028.11/v—CPPM 878.90/p! Even, in certain respects, TSPM 402.99/g!
Clarence sank to his knees. He couldn’t defy mandates! They exist to be obeyed! If people started selectively obeying mandates, society would crumble.
Clarence did what any loyal citizen would do in an ethical quandary. “Friend Computer! Citizen Clarence-Y-SKL-1 requesting guidance.”
A soft chime echoed through the empty atrium.
AT YOUR SERVICE.
“I have a problem. How to put it so I don’t get terminahhh I don’t want to say that. Um—well, I have a problem.”
YOU HAVE ALREADY SAID THAT. IS THE PROBLEM IDENTIFYING THE PROBLEM?
“I have a—thing. I shouldn’t have this thing, but I do. I’m not even quite sure why. But now that I have it, I want to keep it. But keeping it would violate 42 separate mandates. What should I do?�
��
PROCESSING. CITIZEN CLARENCE-Y-SKL-1 IS FINED 35 CREDITS FOR BEING SUSPICIOUSLY VAGUE. PLEASE DEFINE THE OBJECT IN QUESTION.
Clarence’s throat went dry. “Well, it’s a—actually, it’s a mouse. Its name is Ignatius, and it comes from the Outdoors. And it’s extremely—ah—cute.”
THANK YOU, CITIZEN. CITIZEN CLARENCE-Y-SKL-1, PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. AN INTERNAL SECURITY TEAM HAS BEEN—PROCESSING—PROCESSING—CANCEL. ERROR. CANNOT DEFINE OBJECT. CITIZEN, CAN YOU ASSURE ME ERROR-UNKNOWN-OBJECT WILL NOT THREATEN THE HEALTH, ORDERLY ENVIRONS, AND/OR MORAL FIBER OF THE CITIZENS OF ALPHA COMPLEX?
“Uh—yes?”
THANK YOU, CITIZEN. YOU ARE HEREBY CLEARED FOR OWNERSHIP OF ERROR-UNKNOWN-OBJECT. PLEASE ENJOY YOUR NEW ERROR-UNKNOWN-OBJECT. IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO TAKE PROPER CARE OF ERROR-UNKNOWN-OBJECT OR FACE POSSIBLE CHARGES OF INSUBORDINATION OR TREASON. ENJOY YOUR DAY.
A parting chime.
Clarence had no idea what had happened, but he wasn’t going to look a gift mouse in the mouth. Hadn’t The Computer said it was his job to take care of it? And a job assigned—
He said the words aloud. “I have a friend.” Even he sounded surprised.
—————
Liberated from a lab researching mutation and its effects on probability, the mouse immediately makes Clarence’s life much more eventful. Find out how in the PARANOIA novel Y1 Traitor Hangout by WJ MacGuffin. Published by Ultraviolet Books, it’s available where you found this book. See the end of this book for a FREE preview from Traitor Hangout.
Orientation (4.0)
Attention, $NewCitizen_TREASONPROBABLE! The Computer’s loyal servants in Internal Security have discovered steganographic messages encoded in the previous briefing that, upon decryption, will doubtless prove treasonous. All previous orientation documents have been retro-de-extantuated (RDXed) per Internal Security protocols.
The Computer has noted your repeated scrutiny of orientation documents later proven to be subversive, seditious, treasonous, or unhygienic. Should you continue in this behavior, you too may be RDXed.
You are REQUIRED to forget all previous orientation documents and ignore all instructions therein (exception: instructions to forget earlier versions still apply), and to replace your understanding of that with your understanding of this.
