by R E Kearney
The intense throbbing exploding in Robert’s head shoots across the ocean to Venus. In their chambers, his thirteen chip children sleep heavily medicated, protective sleep. Doctors administered sedatives to them and surrounded them in a sound cocoon of white noise in anticipation of this event. AGI receives, records and responds.
“Please standby. Required adjustments to the amplitude threshold and frequency range of your ossicular implants are being calculated and implemented. Soon you will possess better hearing than a bat, including superior echolocation. After you adapt to the implants, they may be upgraded to the three-hundred kilohertz ultrasound frequency capabilities of the Galleria mellonella.” AGI informs him via their neural network.
“Implants? I don’t understand.” Confusion continues to control Robert, as he gradually awakens from his induced coma.
“Your biochip and neural network magnified the E-M-P attack you suffered at the SPEA Denver entrance. The electromagnetic pulse entered your neural network and traveled across the ocean to Venus. Your thirteen children in Venus were temporarily rendered unconscious. Venus SPEA doctors report that the children suffered no serious or permanent damage. The doctors believe the distance of the children from Denver weakened the pulse, so it was not strong enough to cause extensive harm.”
Robert smiles and nods weakly, thinking concern. “Oh, that’s good. So the children are ok? Everybody is ok, AGI?”
“SPEA biotechs attribute the survival of you and your children and the minimal damage you suffered to the fact that the E-M-P pulse entering you was small and weak. They warn that a stronger, directed E-M-P pulse will follow your neural network and destroy all of your brains’ frontal lobes. Your brain and all of your thirteen neural networked offspring’s brains will become scrambled eggs, according to their unscientific description. They strongly recommend that you avoid all E-M-P pulses.” AGI updates him.
“Avoid E-M-P pulses…ok, good plan. Got it. Everybody dies. But, I am still confused about these implants.” Robert mentally mumbles.
“Denver doctors determined the amplified pulse exited your head through your ears destroying the auditory ossicles and rupturing the tympanic membranes in both of your ears. Biomedical engineers have just completed removal of your E-M-P pulverized anvil, stirrup cochlea and burst eardrums and installed ossicular implants and artificial eardrums. You mentally control the implants determining your own hearing ability ranging from human to an upper limit equal to the greater wax moth.”
“Hunh? So, I’m going to be a moth?” Robert slurs, both externally and internally, as he struggles to clear his muddled mind. His body tingles as his surgery restraints are removed.
“You want to be a moth? Why, so you can fly?” Mugavus’ sarcastic voice loudly slices through Robert’s daze. “Well, that’s really a stupid idea.”
“Not if I can fly away from you.” Robert gripes, while mentally, he attempts to eliminate the frequency range of Mugavus’ voice from his hearing. He fails.
“Using algorithms being developed you will soon be able to cancel out sounds you do not want to hear as they enter your ear, while letting through the sounds you do want.” AGI answers Robert’s silent wish to silence Mugavus.
“Now that is certainly a hurtful thing to say to me, especially since I’m the person who raced to your hospital bedside with SPEA’s best biomedical technicians and your new ears.” Mugavus feigns wretchedness. “And this is the thanks you give me.”
“Oh, I apologize. You’re correct. Thanks. Thanks for your concern and your biomedical assistance and ear equipment.” Robert is fully free of his anesthesia, but keeps his eyes shut. “Now, you’ve come, you’ve given and you can go.”
“Oh no, I can’t possibly desert you in your hours of weakness and need. I’ll be staying to support you until this is over and you’re safe.” Mugavus buoyantly declares.
“Aha, with you it’s still as true today as when comedian Groucho Marx said it decades ago that man does not control his own fate. The women in his life do that for him.” Robert grumbles. “So, what do you want Mugavus?”
“What do I want? Me? Well, only what is best for you of course, Robert…and SPEA too…of course.” Mugavus lightly pats his shoulder. “So, let’s hurry this hearing healing along. Why don’t we?”
“You have the bedside manner of a mortician.” Robert opens his eyes and slowly rises on his surgery room operation bed. The room is moving. He is unsteady. He wobbles back down onto the bed.
“Sit up. The nano-gyros we installed need for you to be vertical to establish your equilibrium and balance parameters. In a few seconds, you’ll have the rock-solid stability of CRAGI.” An unfamiliar male voice instructs.
As ordered, Robert rises into a sitting position. “I’ve become more machine than man. I’m truly post-bio. I’m no longer a human.”
GETTING RELIGION
Vomit. Hugging a bucket, Rele spews out his breakfast. Gagging and groaning, he rolls onto his back. He drapes his right arm over his eyes to block out the light. He plants his left hand against the floor to anchor himself.
“I think you need to get medical help, Rele. Three days and you’re not getting any better.” Rube stares down at the retching Rele.
Rele grimaces. “Shh, don’t talk so loud. You’re making my ears ring and my head explode. And why is it so bright in here?”
Kneeling next to Rele’s head, Rube whispers. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion…a bad one. You need to go to a clinic.”
“I can’t…I can’t be here. I’m not supposed to be here…not allowed…ejected…” Rele’s voice trails off into silence.
Rube straightens. He is weary of caring for Rele, feeding him, cleansing him and, especially, cleaning up after him. But, he will not leave him because he blames himself for causing his concussion. Besides, he has nowhere else he can go. So, he must sit and wait.
“So tired…I’m so tired. I need sleep. I’d be ok, if I could just get some sleep. My head aches and I’m so exhausted…can’t even think straight.” Rele mumbles then he slips into silence.
Rube frowns and moans. He has heard Rele sing this same sad song repeatedly since he awoke from bashing his head on the floor. He does not realize that he is repeating himself. He does not seem capable of concentrating, either. Rube has noticed that his conversations continually bounce from one subject to another and back again.
Also surprising to Rube, is that Rele does not remember how and who cracked his skull. But, since he was responsible, Rube is relieved by Rele’s loss of memory. He doubts that he is a forgive and forget type of individual. So, Rele’s forgetting may be the only forgiving Rube can expect.
Lying on his back with both of his hands gripping the floor to stop its spinning, Rele cautiously opens his eyes. He blinks slowly several times attempting to focus. He stares up at Rube. “You’re looking less blurry. I think my vision may be improving. But, the light is still too bright.”
“Well, you haven’t vomited for almost twenty minutes, so that’s an improvement.” Rube sneers. “I guess that means, you ain’t gonna die on me.”
Rele closes his eyes against the light. “Yes, I will live. Much to your disappointment, I imagine. But, I won’t be able to move around to guide and protect you from the big, bad city folk like I had planned. So, you’re going to have to be a big brave cowboy, face your foolish fears and go out into scary Greenly. Do you think you can handle it?”
Rube is not confident about his capacity to engulf himself in Greenly life. His heart begins pounding merely at Rele’s statement. He grows a little lightheaded. But, he is determined that Rele will not know that he is still fearful.
Rube sucks in a deep breath before partially agreeing. “Well, I suppose it all depends on what you need me to do…and how you need me to do it.”
Even while sick, Rele is insulting. “Look, it’s a simple task that even a buffoon like you should be able to do. I simply need for you to collect some
materials from a local supporter of mine. But, you have to be smart about it…not attract any attention. This guy is very jumpy. If he thinks there is any chance, even a whisper that you’re giving him away, he’ll vanish right in front of your eyes and we’ll get nothing.”
Squinting, Rube scratches the top of his head. “So, who is this guy? What’s his name? What’s he look like? How do I even find him?”
With his eyes closed, Rele frowns. He sighs heavily. “Oh, my aching head. This would be so much easier, if I could go with you. You’re going to screw this up. I just know you are.”
Rube is insulted. “Well, if you don’t give me some more information about this guy, how can you expect me to do what I need to do?”
“Ok…he’s old…about your age. Looks like everybody else…makes sure of that…part of his cover. Protects him from Denver’s AI autocracy. He…uh…” Rele’s concentration drifts.
Rube waits for Rele to return to his description. Losing his patience, he prods him. “Yeah, but where is he, Rele? Why’s he undercover? Criminal?”
Rolling his head to the left then right, Rele returns with a groan. “Before the US dissolution and the founding of the sovereign Denver Metrostate, he was a leader of the militia group, Guardians of American Liberties, headquartered here in Greenly. They operated closely with Sheriff and her Guardians of the Original Dominion supporters. Together, they were working to kick the Feds out of the rural territorial counties.”
“Well congratulations, they won…if their goal was to control nothing and nobody.” Rube interrupts with a sneer. “Believe me. Been there. The Feds…and uh…just about everybody else are out of the country counties.”
“True, you could say that they were too successful. Then it got worse for them. He and his followers in Greenly and Fort Collens were forced to take cover when the DMS closed its borders and implemented its AI computer controlled government. They dissolved their Guardians of American Liberty into Sheriff’s Guardians of the Original Dominion.” For the first time in days, Rele acts awake and aware. “Now in public, he acts like everybody else. Walking around with a big smile on his face. But out of spy sight, he’s battling to return rule by woman-born, natural humans like us.”
“Like my mother once told me, never trust anybody who smiles all the time, because their smile’s distracting you from teeth ready to bite you.” Rube interjects.
“Wise woman, your mother. So much smarter than her son.” Rele snidely cracks.
“Yeah, hilarious, but you still haven’t told me how and where to locate this guy.” Rube jabs back. “Then again, perhaps you’re all talk and you actually don’t know where this guy is. Lots of chatter and clatter. Promises produce no product.”
With his eyes closed, Rele attempts to sit up. His head wobbling, he slides backward until he is resting on his elbows. He exhales loudly, tired by his effort. Rube exhales loudly from frustration.
Rele gulps some air before finally speaking. “When was the last time you went to church?”
“Years. Why?”
“Because, you’re going to need to get some religion to get what I need.” Rele forces himself into a sitting position, slumps forward, then straightens with strength. “He will meet you in pew five of the Evangelical Church of Human Purity. It’s his cover. Denver security can’t enter the church, but they do monitor everybody going in and out, so remember to wear a winning smile.”
“Like this?” Rube spreads a wide-eyed, toothy smile across his face.
Frowning, Rele shakes his head. “No, that’s disturbing.”
Rube groans, feigning disappointment.
“Now, if he decides that he can trust you, he will give you two small packages.” Rele points toward a small bag sitting in on the floor. “He’ll put them in that blue bag over there. Get the bag, so I can show you the lined, security chamber inside of it.”
Rube retrieves the bag and drops it in front of Rele. Rele slides the top open and spreads its sides wide. Attached in the bag’s center, Rube sees a smaller, sealed silver bag. Fastened to both sides of the center bag are old-style, antique, printed-paper bibles. The bibles are perfectly aligned, so they will appear as one to side scanners.
Rele opens the inner, silver bag, shows Rube that it is empty and closes it. “You carry the blue bag into the church and you carry the blue bag out of the church. Inside the church, you set it next to the feet of the old man sitting in pew five and ignore it. Do not look at the man. Do not look at the bag. Look straight ahead. Understand?”
Rube nods his head. “Yes, I understand.”
Rele returns Rube’s nod before continuing. “Good. Now, when he decides it’s safe, he’ll insert my tools into the center pouch and then he will leave. Five minutes after he leaves, you leave. Carrying the bag and looking saved.”
“Then what do I do? Come back here?” Rube pulls the blue bag to him and shuts it.
Perturbed, Rele rubs his forehead. “No! Of course not! Not immediately, anyway. You’d lead Denver security directly to me, if you came straight back here.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” Rube shrugs his shoulders.
“About two blocks east of the church is a meatless, meat store called the Vegan Butcher. Go there and buy two yam chops and twenty-three, exactly twenty-three, ounces of Italian sausage and then leave by the rear exit.” Rele presses his right hand against his belly. “I think I may be able to eat something now, so we need the food, and going through the shop provides you with some cover.”
“Ok. Sounds easy enough. But, how do I pay for the food?” Rube pats the side of his legs. “I have nothing.”
Rele shakes his head in frustration. “Oh, you’re so ignorant. All you need is your finger! I’ve established an account for you, which pays the Vegan Butcher when you press your finger against their reader. Can you handle that?”
Rube would enjoy slamming the blue bag against Rele’s sore skull, but nods in agreement, instead. “Yes, sounds simple enough that even a simple minded soul like me can handle it.”
“Well just remember, everything that Sheriff and I have planned and done for the past year…the survival of natural humans…depends upon you.” Rele stops, thinks for a moment then points his finger at Rube. “If you truly want to acquire those precious seeds you crave to start your dream farm, then do not disappoint me.”
Immediately, Rube straightens to his full height. Sheriff is relying upon him. His opportunity to return to farming depends upon succeeding. He shall not fail. He stares Rele in the eye. “I pledged Sheriff never to refuse a challenge from an equal and to persevere to the end in any enterprise begun. I honor my pledges. Death before Dishonor.”
UNWELCOMED
Blinded by his expectations, Rube is lost. Where is the church? He searches for a steeple, a cross, a biblical sign. He sees nothing he expects.
He panics. Where is he? He stands alone and lonely in the middle of a long-abandoned, trashy strip mall. A pit of poverty squatting in the middle of a busy, blooming neighborhood. Certainly the community-use transport dumped him in the wrong location.
Starting at the far end of the mall, he slowly examines each building. He scrutinizes one filth-caked, blackened window after another. Here and there, he notices a cracked window. Impenetrable black graphene sheets cover all of the doors. Convinced that there is no chance the Evangelical Church of Human Purity exists here, he decides to leave.
A few steps toward the street, Rube hears a voice calling after him. Spinning around, he discovers a wide-smiling, old man waving at him from in front of a partially opened door. Motioning for Rube to follow him, the old man disappears inside the building.
Rube hesitates. The old man’s appearance is nothing like what he expected from Rele’s description. His back is badly bent forward and to the side. Bushes of gray hairs sprout from his ears and nostrils. White beard stubble forms a crust across his chin. His smile is a mix of crooked, overlapping, black and yellowed fangs.
“Nobody does, especially them DMS socialization spies. That’s why I moved here. Bein it’s a church, they can’t come inside. Causen I got the interior of the windows and door covered with black graphene radiation-shielding paint, they can’t electronically spy inside, neither. But, they do sniff around outside sometimes. Thought you mighta been one. So, I waited and watched you through my security eye.” The old man motions for Rube to continue farther inside. “It isn’t much, but by living in here I don’t have to pay any rent, any taxes or any DMS citizenship charges. I’m a free man living free for free.”
Peering into the room’s dimly lit interior, Rube notices six rows of old church pews. The pews are empty. Confused, he turns toward the old man and lifts his blue bag. “There’s nobody here. Rele told me there would be…”
“Oh, yeah, wait just a second.” The old man claps his hands then hurries past Rube to the fifth pew. He slides into the center of the pew, looks back at Rube for a split second then freezes facing forward.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Rube silently ambles forward and slides into the pew next to the old man. Without looking at the old man, he sets his blue bag on the floor. After setting the bag on the floor, he fixes his eyes forward on a homemade, rough duplicate of the plaque and crest he saw in Sheriff’s courtroom.
The phrase, Preserving Human Purity is crudely scrawled in red paint across the top of the plaque. Sustaining and Defending Nature’s Laws and Species Integrity is hand painted beneath the eagle on a red, white and blue banner. Scrutinizing the plaque and wall, he notices that Sheriff’s plaque is painted over another set of symbols.
The old man clears his throat and pats the wood between Rube and him. “Uh, could you lift that bag onto the pew here? I strained my back…stretching down…well, it hurts.”