The Book of Eadie, Volume One of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

  “So, what you’re telling me,” Daiss said, breathing heavily as he pulled the truck up to the bridge, “is that a group of ignorant Zone animals got away from you, even though you controlled one of the most sophisticated pieces of flying weaponry known to mankind and had transmitters telling you exactly where they were?”

  “Are you referring to the transmitters they got from disarming you, Agent Daiss? Maybe if you could hold onto your weapon you wouldn’t need me to chase your bad guys.”

  “Did you scan with muon reflectors?”

  “Sure. But you know what that shows—hundreds of life forms at all kinds of depths. It’s always the same. But nobody’s ever seen anyone come out.”

  Daiss fumed, staring out through the truck’s windshield. The helio rose back into the sky.

  (?)

  Eadie’s eyes adjusted slowly to the room’s blackness as she rose to a standing position, trying to steady her breathing. She gingerly rubbed the knee she had landed on and began to look around for whatever it was that had sealed them in. The grate she had directed her group to climb into was the entrance to a tunnel, built with such a sharp incline that they had all landed on top of each other at the bottom. The air was wet and heavy with a mildewy, stale vinegar smell.

  Her ears rang. Whatever heavy thing had slid across the opening had blocked the actual bullets, but the helio’s guns had sent horrible shrieking shockwaves through the tunnels.

  Somewhere in the dark there was a soft sliding noise, followed by an indistinct rustling that came from all around them. Suddenly, small, luminous shapes and patterns seemed to float everywhere she looked. Most of them were groupings of one to four horizontal lines, but there was also a solid rectangle and an eerie glowing circle, which appeared to be only an arm’s length away.

  Eadie fished out Kel’s lighter and flicked the ignitor, making sparks but no flame. She flicked again, and again, and finally a dim orange glow struggled to illuminate the underground chamber.

  People?

  She steadied the lighter with both hands. More than a hundred pairs of eyes squinted at her from pasty, thin faces, each with a pattern across the forehead. As she glanced quickly around the rest of the room, Dok, Lawrence and the others gathered behind her. Above their heads hung huge twisted pieces of metal, suspended from long ropes. On the concrete beneath their feet were stains, scrapes and cracks where the metal had come crashing down many times.

  The lighter blinked out.

  18

  Underground

  “A big slab of concrete sealed the opening as we came in, Eadie,” Lawrence said quietly. The calmness of his own voice surprised him. Without the light, he felt completely disoriented and vulnerable. “I didn’t see any other way out.”

  “We came in peace,” Dok said from somewhere off to Lawrence’s left. “We were running, and—”

  “We’re sorry to bother you,” Eadie said, talking over Dok’s words. “We’ll leave right now, okay? We don’t want any trouble.”

  Their words faded to silence but no reply came from the faces all around. Someone from Eadie’s group, probably Old Fart, took a slow, trembling breath. Away down some unseen tunnel, water trickled.

  At last a rough, timeworn voice called out through the darkness. “Was that you I saw, Prophet?”

  Emerging from vacuum

  “Finally you drank enough that you let go, even with a little of the Juice left in your system.” Brian knew the samurai would hear these thoughts. “Or really, it’s my system—you just stole it. So now I have to deal with the withdrawal symptoms and I’m drunk as hell, but I didn’t get to use that shit to keep you out, to stay in total control. Next time, Samurai. I swear next time will be different. Brian stared down at the sodje in his nearly empty glass, wondering how many he’d had. I hope you’re the one who’ll get to suffer through the hangover, at least.

  “I’ll keep the re-rod you picked up. My trigger fingers are fucked up but it seems I can grip this thing, at least. It’s better than nothing.”

  Coiner and Lux leaped up from the floor, standing rigidly and staring straight ahead. Brian followed, copying the posture.

  A tall, muscular man with a bald head and a close-cropped beard entered the room, followed by three bodyguards who stationed themselves by the door, two outside and one inside, rifles in hand. Brian kept his eyes forward as the man circled him, speaking.

  “Sixteen handguns—two from each of eight dead Unnamed—all firing a three-shot burst with every pull of the trigger. Three firebombs … and a bag of reasonably decent heroin, as I understand. Not bad. Not bad at all.”

  Brian kept his eyes facing forward.

  “Everyone out,” the man said. “I want to speak to the samurai alone.”

  “Yes, Top Dog,” Coiner and Lux said in unison. They filed out between the guards, who had not moved. After they left, the guard inside the room stepped out and disappeared around the edge of the doorway.

  Of course—this is Top Dog! Nobody else would have personal bodyguards or command this level of respect. Brian checked the door. Bodyguards would stop me if I tried to bash his head in right this minute. But I can wait for my chance.

  “You may relax, Rounder Samurai. Drink. Speak.”

  Brian relaxed his posture only a little, watching Top Dog settle onto the leather car seat. Only when Top Dog gestured to the floor in front of him did Brian slowly lower himself into a seated position. Top Dog picked up Coiner’s glass and held it in front of him, examining the sodje inside. “Now tell me about your little adventure today, Rounder Samurai.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brian said. “Thank you, Top Dog. It is an honor to meet you.” Daring to look the man in the face, he raised the bottle of sodje, silently offering to pour. Top Dog nodded and Brian filled the glass to the top.

  “Sir,” Brian said, filling his own glass and setting down the bottle. “This Rounder was given permission to take a half Round out for training. This Rounder wanted to test the strength of the Elements and the team.”

  Top Dog nodded.

  “This Rounder wished to work on concealment of the Round in a crowd of non-Wild Ones, and so took the Round into the small marketplace. This Rounder noticed the Unnamed watching the dark man and set a trap …”

  “Now, stop right there, Samurai. I have spoken with the half Round you led. None of them had seen the Unnamed at all, let alone known who they were following.” Top Dog’s eyes were narrowed, perhaps in suspicion.

  “Does Top Dog recommend discipline for them?” Brian asked. “Sir, this Rounder believes that the Elements in that half Round are excellent warriors. They were busy learning to work together and obey my orders. I—that is, this Rounder, sir—this Rounder believes they should not be disciplined for failing to notice the Unnamed when they were on a simple training mission, sir. It seemed to this Rounder that such tasks were the responsibility of the Rounder in charge, sir.”

  The more I talk to you this way, asshole, the more I want to open up your skull. You noticed my shaking hands just now—do you think I fear you? Do you dare assume I’m awed by your power? Keep thinking it—the element of surprise will be that much greater when I turn on you and make you pay and pay and pay.

  Top Dog stared at him a moment longer before taking a long drink. Brian raised his glass, drinking deeply as well. It was part of the etiquette; subordinates always matched their superiors drink-for-drink — in the New Union, in universities, in the corporations, everywhere. Willing intoxication proved loyalty; it was difficult to mask your true intentions when you were drunk and subjected to scrutiny from higher-ups.

  Brian felt suddenly cold, realizing what would happen if he failed to hide his own true intentions.

  “No,” Top Dog said. “They don’t need punishment. But it is rather remarkable that you noticed them when some very experienced Elements did not.” He downed his glass. Brian struggled to down his as well and then poured for both of them again. “But that’s fine, Samurai. It shows the Divinators were rig
ht in selecting you for immediate advancement. I’ll admit I had my doubts about that, but it seems to have been in order. This organization’s growing so fast, we need Elements like you in positions of authority.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brian said, matching the long drink Top Dog took. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You know,” Top Dog said, setting down his glass. “Back when there were only a few hundred Elements under my command, there was still a lot to worry about. Each one of them had to be fed and clothed, had to have a place to sleep. But then we kept getting bigger. When we hit a thousand, I had to set up divisions to deal with logistical things … Now we’ve got more than five thousand, with more coming in every day.” He downed his drink again. Brian struggled to do the same. “You could rise very high in this organization, Samurai. It would appear that you’ve got what it takes.”

  Five thousand! Five thousand fighters who had been tough enough to live in complete anarchy were now organized and obedient, controlled with training and drugs and threats of torture.

  Imagine what one could do with five thousand of these killers! Is there a way to eliminate Top Dog and take command of them? Maybe someday.

  Brian refilled the glasses. “This Rounder is ready for any duty he is assigned, sir. This Rounder believes the New Union is the most impressive fighting force in human history, Top Dog, sir.”

  “Of course it is. We built something from nothing.” Top Dog spread his hands. “I mean, look around! No trees, no arable land. Barely any food or drinking water. This place could never have supported five thousand fighters before I got here. I got them to stop offing each other. Once we forced cooperation inside the organization, we were able to turn that energy outward. The population is still rising because we keep them organized! Now, there are five thousand who work together instead of going for one another’s throats. Five thousand who know they belong to something very powerful.”

  Top Dog clapped his hands four times. A guard poked her head into the room, nodding when Top Dog held up the empty sodje bottle, upside-down.

  Underground

  Old Fart rubbed his sore elbow as the Prophet spoke. A few jars of bioluminescent material had appeared, turning the blackness to layers of shapeless gray shadow. The circle on the Prophet’s forehead glowed in the same way these people’s forehead patterns did.

  “Yes, Elder,” said the Prophet. “This is the general I told you would come. She has found her own way here. With her are her followers, and I number myself among them.”

  “We have learned to trust your wisdom, Prophet,” the voice said. “We believe you when you say that your general will help us acquire what the Good Mother has withheld of late. Your group may enter.”

  “Thank you, Elder,” said the Prophet.

  “Welcome home,” said the voice.

  Night in the Great Midwestern Desert

  The truck sped across the hard packed clay. A violent wind churned up swirling dust clouds, obscuring the view through the bioplexi in every direction.

  “People say that a long time ago this was where food came from. Plants as far as you could see, working like synthesizers, making edible stuff.” Li’l Ed said. “I wonder what that was like, being able to walk around and just eat whatever you found.”

  The man did not respond.

  That doesn’t mean anything. Unnamed are not known to be chatty.

  “I … I hope I didn’t upset Chairman Williams when I turned him down about the job,” Li’l Ed said. Again there was no response.

  “He seemed kind of shocked. And I noticed he was talking to you pretty intensely about something. Did he mention whether I might have offended him?”

  The man stayed silent.

  “It seems like we should see the city lights by now,” Li’l Ed said. “We’re going really fast, and I don’t think it took this long to reach the mine when we came out.”

  The truck drove on, in what Li’l Ed was now certain was the wrong direction. He was speeding off into the desert, driven by the hired killer of a man he’d just insulted by refusing to join in his covert business, heading farther away from civilization.

  I’m not meant to return from this trip. It was not just a paranoid conclusion; it was the most logical one.

  Li’l Ed opened the door and launched himself out. He hit the rock-like surface and rolled, tumbling over and over, his clothes and knees and hands and shoulders and face shredding in the grit. The truck slid sideways and stopped.

  He curled up his bleeding, aching body, struggling to put his legs under himself. The truck’s engine revved and its wheels spun. Ed leaped out of its path as it bore down on him. The grill caught one ankle and he fell against his bloody palms. The truck whipped around again.

  Crawling forward, he managed to push himself up and get his feet beneath him once more. He ran through the dark. The truck’s headlights were pointed in a different direction, but for a moment, the dust cleared enough for Ed to make out a large rock in the hazy moonlight, only a few meters ahead. He heard the truck door open and seconds later a shot fired, really a quick burst of shots, glancing against the clay and ricocheting off into the night. Not terribly close, but still in his general direction. Ed reached the stone, sliding behind it as quietly as he could. It was long and flat and smooth. An old house foundation, probably, now almost completely consumed by the desert. He squeezed tightly against it as a light shone out from next to the truck. The glasses Unnamed wore had lights as well as cameras.

  “Come on out, you little shit!” The Unnamed called. The light swept the desert. The Unnamed took a few steps. “Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

  Ed crept along the foundation, watching the light as it headed toward another formation—maybe where another building had once been.

  As the light drifted farther off, Ed took greater risks, moving more quickly but with slightly more noise. The man came up on the landmark he had aimed for, jumped behind it and fired another burst into the dust. Now was Ed’s chance. He rushed to the truck’s open door and perched himself behind the wheel, twisting dials and pushing buttons to make it work. The Unnamed shot at the truck. As Ed squirmed and ducked, his foot landed on something that made the truck move!

  His entire body was shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. He found the pedal and pushed down, sending the truck speeding in a random direction across the desert, praying for a glimpse of the city lights. Two bullets cracked the bioplexi side, and then he was away.

  Amelix Retreat

  A SUBSIDIARY OF AMELIX INTEGRATIONS

  Reconditioning Feedback Form

  Seeker of Understanding

  INVOLUNTARY, GRADE TWO

  Subject: #117B882QQ

  Division: Corporate Regulations

  1. Please describe today’s combat simulation exercise.

  Combat is pain. Every step I take in the simulations reminds me of the myriad times I’ve been wounded or killed in this game. My body remembers the high-voltage pain of every injury, even though there was no actual physical damage done. If these were real battles, I’d be dead many, many times over.

  I had worried that I wouldn’t know what to do when I was finally put in charge, but once I started giving orders, leading the group today was the most natural thing ever. I really felt like God was making the decisions and acting through me. To serve God’s purpose, we must dissolve the barrier between the team and the self. We win by fighting as hard as we can, all the time. I might be the one getting killed today, or it might be another from my team. But if we give each other our best effort every time, we’ll all have a greater chance of staying alive.

  I rewarded Seazie and 6T, her to a level four and him to a level six.

  2. Please share some details of your experience in group therapy today.

  In combat, I can focus on the action and adrenaline. There’s an immediate need, and I play an important part in carrying out the plan to address it.

  In group, I can’t stop wondering whether these are actual human beings
. Any little thing, like the way Seazie habitually touches two fingertips to her cheek, makes me think that maybe it’s a glitch in her code, an action too often repeated. Then Pathway Amplification kicks in and I slide down into deeper depression than I’ve ever felt before. I realize that if they’re programs, I’m just sitting alone in a basement cell, interacting with nobody.

  Today it was worse than usual. I sunk so low that I realized it doesn’t matter whether they’re people or creations of the computer. We’ve all been programmed.

  I hope you’ll accept this as a complete answer. Pathway Amplification is

  I can’t

  3. Please consider other events of the day, such as religious services, mealtimes, and interactions with your Accepted advisor, and explain how these experiences helped you grow and change.

  4. Please share any additional thoughts or comments.

  With the Fiends

  Coiner and Lux deposited Brian onto his bed of dirty rags. His legs still lay mostly on the concrete floor but he was much too drunk to notice or care.

  “I can’t believe he made you a fucking Frontman, after one damned day of training with your Round,” Coiner said. “You’ll be in charge of three, maybe four Rounds. In my Patrol.”

  Brian struggled on the makeshift bed, trying to hoist himself up into a seated position. His hand slipped out from under him and he came down hard, his chin burying itself deep in the rags at the edge of the pile. They smelled like dirt and smoke, and maybe blood. He retched and Coiner jumped back. Lux and Coiner staggered out of the room as Brian vomited streams of clear liquid across the floor.

  The Federal Administration Building

  “Instructor Samuelson?”

  The man turned his attention from his EI display and refocused his cold, green eyes on the doorway. He smiled. “Ah, Daiss. Come in, come in. You’ve just been debriefed, I suppose?”