End Times, Inc. (A Great & Continuous Malignity)

by David S. Wellhauser

  During the weeks that followed, Matt had allowed his anxieties to lapse while he focused on relaxing, recovering, and training. His encounter with Asher at White Oak Cemetery had left him not simply with a sense of inadequacy but a determination to improve his skills for a confrontation which appeared unavoidable. Then there was Leonor and China. What would he have to confront in his search for them, now the landscape of Archaics and Metas had so radically altered? He was uncertain, which meant he was unprepared. This would have to change.

  ***

  Leaning against a lamp post, a wrought iron nineteenth century affair whose housing suggested gaslight but was just another sodium lamp, Matt rubbed his lower back below the kidneys. For the past few weeks he had been taking hand to hand combat training and the regime was brutal, but he had improved a great deal. Still, lighting up a zip, he was sore most of the time. “You okay?” Matt turned to the voice. Shasta, a female Meta he’d met not long after coming to Cody, was looking at him with mild concern and a certain hunger in her eyes—not for the man, but the ganja. Taking another hit he passed the weed to her.

  “Took a couple of good shots to the kidneys today.” She smiled. Her face had a heavy seam, but the woman’s skin was not the albino complexion he’d so often seen but more a milk chocolate. He wondered what her racial background was but felt there was no way he could ask politely so let it go.

  Matt was not concerned with the issue of race so much as attempting to understand, especially since Milwaukee and the emergence of Thin Man, what the mechanisms of the transformations were, and how these manifest individually, as well as collectively. Shasta was typical of the new Metas in Cody—middle class, liberal, and terrified of what happened to her, as well as what was happening to her country and the world. This forward looking view had become typical of Metas.

  Shasta, and many of the Metas and Archaics he had met through her, was what appeared to be the norm in this new world of Cody. But that there was little of the norm about Cody he had to remind himself from time to time. All the woman wanted—appeared to want—was just to get along. Once that had been accomplished she wanted to find work and maybe a boyfriend. She still preferred Archaics as did many Metas—both sexes. Increasingly, many Archaics also seemed to prefer a Meta partner. This in itself was hopeful, for the world they were all now in left little by way of exclusive choices.

  What bothered Matt were the rumours of the Cinn both Metas and Archaics now had a firm grasp of. Not only did they know of the Cinn’s existence, which would be inevitable for those escaping Botrous and the Transhumanists but they appeared to have a functioning knowledge of what they were, appeared to be, and what they wanted. Shasta had no interest in either serfdom or slavery and feared both were real possibilities with the Cinn—if they survived the transformation that was coming. However, neither Shasta, nor any of the others which were aware of the Cinn had any clear idea of what they were in their natural state. Matt’s revelation on this matter had thrown the community into serious panic, which took Salt some time to spin into a useful political tool.

  Even with all of the speculation that was abroad neither the greater society, nor the world governments yet accepted the reality of the Cinn. Many had even taken to the networks and the blogosphere in an attempt to spin knowledge of the Cinn into another egregious conspiracy theory which had more to do with fear than anything else.

  Although the ideological war had been a complete failure, if the atypical in Cody were to be taken as the norm, the hate and violence of the H+, Transhumanists, Dragoste, and Ajutor had inspired moments of extreme aversion amongst not just the Metas but the Archaics as well. It seemed to Matt that any direct acts of violence had been reprehensible to the emergent collective. Feargal was at odds as to how to view this—since violence was, in the end, the only solution now available.

  This aversion to engaging with the H+, Transhumanists, and Neruda’s organisations in an effective manner was not, in itself, a plot to destabilise Salt and Sansa? If this were the case could it be that not all of the runaways from Botrous and Neruda were runaways? This was almost certainly the case. But, even if both wanted Intelligence would they have inserted provocateurs? Possibly. Whether or not this had occurred worried Matt less than the notion it may have occurred. In the may he found a great deal to fear and more that could—would—cause considerable panic in the Sansa.

  “Would,” Shasta interrupted his thoughts, “you like to get a coffee?”

  “Good idea.” Still rubbing his back, but feeling much better after finishing the zip. In the coffee shop there was a table of Metas and Archaics that called them over. As Shasta got their drinks the group introduced themselves. Some Matt had met through training, others he’d seen about, but a few were new. Each, as Shasta returned, were relating why they’d come to Cody—most seemed to have a story of abuse by either Neruda or Botrous. A few had lost themselves somewhere over the past four years and wondered around until they had to latch on to something or go under. Eventually, the conversation had moved on to him and his purpose here.

  Feargal was certain everyone in Cody had heard of his search, but to keep faith with the manipulation of the table he recounted the highlights of Dilmun, Botrous, William, Melissa, China, and Leonor. There followed a deep silence and as he was about to thank Shasta and leave the debate over what he should or should not do erupted over the table.

  Some were for his continuing the search for his family, but they were in the minority. Most were for him setting up with Jonah and Sansa—this being the best way to secure the future of both family and world. All they managed to do was to trigger Feargal’s suspicions about who they were and what their agenda was. Finally, Matt was left to wonder if this were the place for him—and how much longer this would be the case.

  ***

  After the coffee with Shasta and her friends, Matt was drawn out of the stupor that had haunted him since Milwaukee. Following from the arousal and after training each day, he spent his time searching for answers; if not answers then directions. There was no clear reason in his mind, other than Shasta’s friends considered they had a right, perhaps an obligation, to share with him how he should live and what he should be doing with this life. There was a sense, as an artefact, everyone had the right to determine how he/it was deployed. This caused him to withdraw from Sansa and push off on his own, and in doing so the man returned to himself. There was something seductive about disappearing into a group and losing oneself, but then there was China and Leonor—the place in which he wished to disappear was his family.

  What he should be looking for, however, was a matter of some concern.

  For years he had been looking for information on Leonor and China, while only peripherally enquiring after rumour of Botrous and what his inner circle may now look like. Shea would certainly still be there—though he heard little of her in the intervening years, Carla, Melissa—no matter the deluded protestations of Halton, William, and then whom? This was a central question—one that could prove key in locating Botrous and through his father, his family. This had always been obvious, at some level, but Feargal felt incapable of doing more than searching for the woman. Now he recognised this had never been enough.

  Some weeks following his resolution, Matt found himself in the Sitting Bull Bar—the eponymous nature of just about everything in Cody was beginning to irritate, but for the most part Feargal attempted to push this aside. This evening, tired and sore from training, he found himself in a lower-middle class bar and with a table of Separatists. Separatists landed somewhere between the H+ and Sansa. They didn’t want the return of the Cinn, but nor were they interested in integrating with Archaics. This left them in an eccentric position and with few friends. Matt’s questions hadn’t helped and he soon found himself in a bar fight.

  There were three of them and Feargal wondered if his training would be sufficient, and worried what training they’d had—it turned out none. They’d spent their time in Cody lurking on the frontier of the Me
ta community and, for the most part, drinking. The fight went sideways when, having broken a bottle, one of them attempted to cut Feargal. What prompted him Matt was never entirely certain of, but he broke a cue over the Separatist’s face then slashed him with the broken end of this. Stumbling back, Feargal—rage having taken him—drove the spiked tip of the weapon into the Meta’s heart. What he’d taken to be his heart, because a large percentage of the Metas had had their internal organs rearranged or transformed by the change. No matter the case, he’d chosen well, because he killed the Separatist.

  Having done this, Matt took off out the back door. He might have hung about for the law, but there were two problems as he saw it. First, most of the bar were Metas, and though most either knew him or of him he was unprepared to see how they would react to an Archaic killing a Meta. Secondly, he’d just killed someone. At the very least, in a world where the law still existed—and he was uncertain if Cody any longer qualified—he was guilty of manslaughter. Waiting for the law could only put him at a disadvantage.

  In the alley, he stopped by a trash bin, wondering what to do next when the first shot ripped at the brick above his head. A shard of this caught him just above his left temple and he was staggered into the street, hand to his head. He could feel the blood leaking between his fingers and cursed himself for not carrying a gun as just about everyone else was. Why wasn’t he? After all, this was now a war—hadn’t Cardston proved that? Taking out a handkerchief he pressed this to the wound and cut down one side street; then another in an attempt to lose the Separatists, but their boots were never far from him.

  Slipping into a street of warehouses he could hear the footfalls behind him shattering puddles from the rain they were still getting in a light drizzle. Good news for him but they also—because the Separatists would know in which direction he was headed. It was only a matter of time before they found and killed him. Seeing no choice he ducked into the next open door and found himself in an empty, perhaps abandoned, warehouse. There were still, however, an assortment of crates and rows of shelving to hide behind. This he did as the exterior door burst open. “You certain?” The first asked.

  “Yeah.” As the second spoke, Matt discovered a large, heavy wrench, rusted solid but usable.

  Slipping back a step, the planking gave and there was a brief squeeze of wood on wood. The sounds of the men’s footfalls froze. However, the echo in the space made it difficult to determine exactly where this had come from. Still, they knew his general location. Splitting up each took an aisle. As the first turned a corner behind which Matt was hiding he struck him and the Meta went down unconscious. He didn’t have the gun. But the second was racing after the sound. Feargal managed to circle around and come up behind him as he was trying to revive his partner. With his heart racing he struck the Meta again and again, until what was left of his head was a pulpy, distorted melon. Taking the weapon he left the Meta there, and hoped it would be a while before the police found them, but wasn’t hopeful.

  ***

  “Good news.” Jonah said, flopping down in the armchair across from Matt.

  “Which is?” Not certain what to expect. The three days and change since the incident with the Separatists had seen a fracturing of the community. From this Matt understood how fragile what Salt was building really was. It took all of two days to stem the rioting in a town of less than 10,000; then the tension was such that the smallest of sparks would set this off again. The Town Council was all but ready to call in the Federals—the vote had been that close.

  “There will be no charges.” Matt rolled his eyes.

  “That’s a surprise to you?”

  “No, but it is good news.”

  “Not news at all.”

  “At the very least, we may now get back to work.”

  Here was the problem. There’d been so many since they landed in Cody he no longer new where to begin with himself, let alone where to begin with Jonah. Between the Humans, Metas, and, now, the Separatists this just didn’t seem like a place he could or should be any longer. If he stayed there’d be more instances, and every day the town swelled so that it was now surrounded by makeshift tent cities. Most of the new suburbs had grown up around Beck Lake down by the Greybull Highway and along Mountain View Road. Yet, these were rapidly filling up. No one wanted to put them down by the city reservoir, for fear of polluting the water supply, but the City Council was beginning to question its ability to control what was happening in their own town.

  More and more Cody was looking like Salt’s town and this was beginning to irritate the residents. Matt could be wrong, but he was beginning to feel as though the place was heading for something ugly. But where else could they go? Talk of Milwaukee had fallen from the front pages and the blogs had dropped it even sooner, yet it would not do for either of them to attract attention too soon. This, nonetheless, was just what was going to be happening if the riot blossomed again. Once more, even the whiff of one, and the City Council would call in the Federals. This may be the West, but even here there was a limit past which politicians would not go.

  “I’m leaving.” There was no clean or painless way to do this and so Matt just spit it out.

  “There’s a small part of me that is surprised, but the larger part wonders why you’ve hung about this long.” This was easier than he’d expected it to be and that worried Feargal.

  “You should come with me.”

  “And you should stay.”

  “Stay! You are mad?”

  “This,” waving toward the city out of the lobby doors, “was a hiccup.”

  “This was very nearly a bloodbath, and the next time the Mayor will call in the Federals—then we’re truly fucked.” Matt paused here and though he sensed it useless he continued. “You need to get out too.”

  “No, they,” and Matt was uncertain who he was referring to—Meta, human, both, “need me to stay. Seems I’m the only one they trust.”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t see this going all that well for any of us.”

  “We need to offer the Metas—even like-minded Archaics—a haven in which they can organise and begin to express the New World Order.”

  “How is any of that possible in a world in which Zakara and the Cinn seem to be ever increasing in power and Seculars are becoming ever more skittish—and more dangerous because of this?”

  “It isn’t, any longer, a matter of what is and is not possible—but what is necessary.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “Yes, but you have to understand, when we are prepared to move, then we will take care of Botrous. So, you should stay. Many, because of Cardston—amongst other things, would be willing to follow you.” Matt knew this was probably true, which left him with a bitter taste. He was no natural leader, as he saw this, and what he’d done was governed more by need than desire. Whatever this new world was to become, even if they’d managed to stop the Transhumanists, was of little interest to him. Of course, this shouldn’t be the case and it would not have been if it hadn’t been for the fact that China was in the wind.

  “I’m sorry, Jonah. You, as it turned out, are the only one that’s stuck with me, but this isn’t going to help—staying I mean.” Salt looked down at the nails on his long fingers and remained silent for a moment.

  “You will find them.”

  “Not by staying here.”

  “You mean the Separatist thing?”

  “I’ve interviewed all the Metas I could and no one either knows anything of them or they, like the Separatists, aren’t talking.”

  “Those Separatists were an anomaly.”

  “You’ll be seeing more of them in the years ahead—especially if we win. Besides that, it can’t be a year before Zakara puts Leonor into play. If I don’t find her before then there’s no point in any of this.” Waving a hand toward the city.

  “Besides, after this thing with the Separatists I’m not well disposed to any of the Metas—what I mean,” he continued hurriedly, “is that I�
�m no longer certain who’s who any longer. There will be provocateurs amongst your recruits. You are aware of that?”

  “Yes, but that is another reason for the training and organisation—it will give us time to figure out who is who.”

  “Even if you do, you will only call the Federals or the Transhumanists down on you. This is too public.”

  “I can’t change your mind?” Matt shook his head sadly, and Jonah stood offering his hand.

  Matt took the elder’s hand and held this without either of them pumping. Jonah was staring, almost emptily, beyond his shoulder into Yellowstone Avenue and beyond into the immeasurable flatness of the prairie which gave to mountains in the distance. Uncomfortable, Feargal looked over his shoulder for whatever had taken the psychologist’s attention. “What?” He finally asked when he saw no more than the nothing which lay on the other side of the road. As though shaken from an unspecified grief, Salt looked down on the kid.

  “Remembering the night in Howitt.”

  “Yes.” The response both suspicious and uncomprehending.

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever said how sorry I am about that.”

  “Four years have said that; probably more.” Salt nodded, a sad smile opening their face; a slight crin running along the Meta seam.

  “Could you stay a little longer—just a little?”

  “Why?” Matt, now that he’d decided it was time to go was eager to get out. This had always been typical of him—as long as he’d been paying attention to himself.