The Book of Wanda, Volume Two of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

  A lone man emerged from the warehouse and stumbled toward the street, leaving the door wide open. Furius expected someone from inside to come and close it, but nobody did. Based on the man’s shape and size he might have been the first one Furius had dosed with Pink Shit during his escape, though in the dark it was anyone’s guess. Could the man have been unconscious in there the whole time?

  Whoever it was seemed lost, looking around every corner and making seemingly aimless strides first in one direction and then another. Could this be his first legionary? This fellow showed signs of the disorientation involved with the process of coming over.

  Then again, this was a place where disorienting drugs were common. This one might be on any of a hundred drugs, some of which B’s memories said caused paranoia and blind violence.

  Perhaps the henchman was just drunk, still able to draw his gun. Still able, even, to remember Furius.

  Or maybe he wasn’t even a henchman. Maybe this guy had just ripped off the warehouse, as Furius himself intended to do. He hadn’t been carrying lab equipment, so the means of Pink Shit production were likely still inside.

  Alfred’s warehouse was a trove of drugs and guns that was sure to draw looters, though, whether or not this guy had been one, and the next might not come alone. If the place really was empty right now, he had to get in and out before anyone else showed up.

  The man seemed to settle on a street, wandering off without looking back. Furius pivoted his head back and forth from the man to the open warehouse door.

  He had to get the Pink Shit. There were too many risks in confronting the man, and the potential cost of forgoing this opportunity to get inside the warehouse was too high. Gritting his teeth, Furius charged the door.

  B’s memories showed Alfred had commanded five or six henchmen at one time, which meant there could still be one or two here. Their weapons made them dangerous, but few men in this place had been forged in true battle. They did not know what it was to watch an opponent’s eyes as a gladius point erupted through the back of his skull and knocked his helmet forward. The new warfare of this place was just blasting and hiding.

  Furius slipped quickly through the door, with one gun in his hand and another tucked in his belt for easy access. B’s memories told him he needed both hands to steady his aim. He heard no sounds inside at all. The door still hung open, leaving an angular shape of hazy moonlight on the floor.

  His eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior. Furius was an easy target in this large and open space, especially this close to the light coming through the doorframe. He dove to a different spot, darker and farther along the wall. No shots sounded. Standing, he made his way around, feeling along with his empty hand in the darkest spots, and ensured that the warehouse was truly unoccupied.

  From the loading area Furius spotted a large interior window high above him. A set of stairs led up to the door next to it. It was an office, from which the entire warehouse could be surveilled. Or fired upon.

  He climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. This door was locked.

  He had keys. Mr. B’s memories helped him understand the way they worked. He tried one after another until at last the lock turned. He swung the door open and jumped aside, ducking, expecting gunfire. Instead, the room was so silent he could hear the grit he’d stirred up, as it settled down onto a plastic sheet beneath the landing.

  The office was dark, illuminated only by light from the warehouse, which itself came from the one bright spot on the floor and a few little windows at the edges of the roof. B’s memories indicated there was a good chance of electric light, and Furius found the switch.

  It was an office and bedroom, with a large antique desk set back from the window and a bed in the corner big enough to host an orgy. Next to the desk sat a man-sized safe that probably held drugs, cash and weapons, but B’s knowledge of such things told him there was little chance of opening it. He tried the handle anyway, finding it secured. It was a combination lock and there was no way to use a key. Across the foot of the bed was a dingy red throw that had probably been a bedspread for a smaller mattress. On a small stand next to the bed he identified a pair of handcuffs.

  Taking the red fabric over one shoulder, he brought both ends around his neck and fastened them on the other side by forcing the handcuff tabs through the fabric. Looking and feeling more properly Roman, he descended the stairs again.

  Corner of 6th and G, the Zone

  Wanda had hoped that the streets would be abandoned so early in the morning. Instead, there were just as many people shuffling around as ever. Nobody here had anything else to do.

  Even if it happens again, I survived, didn’t I?

  Her mind struggled with the idea.

  What exactly was it that I survived?

  It could be that the locals were especially aggressive because everyone sent the newly Departed here looking for the Horde.

  There was nothing here except the unfriendly people and that horrible smell. Why would people keep sending her to this same corner when there was nothing here? Maybe the key was getting away from these predators at the corner; the Horde was probably just up some nearby street.

  Her EI still showed a signal here, which was strange since there was apparently no industry or commerce of any kind to be found. Why an open access point here, in the middle of all this rubble and decay? She supposed it didn’t matter much. There was still the corporate firewall, locking Wanda away from everyone she had known.

  She straightened her spine and inhaled, gagging on the stench, and then strode down G Street again. This time she paid attention to the people on the street. On both sides, at least one bystander stared blatantly at her while at least one other went running off. Within minutes a crowd had appeared, with more people popping up out of nowhere with every step she took. At about the same point she’d reached last time, maybe half a block in, a woman approached.

  “Hello, friend!” the unsmiling woman said, standing directly in front of her at an uncomfortably close distance. Her eyes were strangely wide open and her hands were held tensely apart, as if waiting for a pass in a Traverball game. Like that of the other accoster from the last time Wanda had been here, this woman’s voice was disturbingly quiet and intense. “Where are you headed?”

  “Just…this way,” Wanda said.

  “Why this way?” the woman asked. “Why not some other way? Is there someone you’re looking for?”

  “I…I’m just going to see some friends, way down past here.”

  “What friends? Who?”

  “Nobody you’d know,” Wanda said, stepping sideways to get around her.

  The woman stepped sideways and backwards at the same time, keeping so little distance between Wanda’s face and her own that Wanda felt the woman’s every breath. “Try me.”

  Wanda stopped moving and met her gaze. “I’m just walking here. Leave me alone.”

  “You’re not just walking. Not here. Tell me who you’re looking for.”

  Wanda looked around. There were more people on the walkways than before. The street was a tunnel of faces.

  Every cell in Wanda’s body wanted to turn and run, back to 6th and as far beyond as she could go, to leave this weird, horrible place and this crazy woman and all these bums behind. But the Horde was home, the only hope for dispossessed people like Wanda. She didn’t know how or why -- maybe it was only through strength in numbers -- but somehow, finding the Horde of the Departed enabled former corporates to survive, if only for a little while. Clearly she would never endure on her own in any other part of the Zone. From the stories she’d heard, living among the Hordesmen might be a fate worse than death, but she may as well try it. There would always be time later to die.

  “I will not be intimidated,” Wanda said, trying again to get past the woman.

  “You don’t know what intimidation is.”

  Wanda took another step to the left and forward and found herself matched once more by the woman moving backward. She lunged to the r
ight, but the woman blocked her again. Finally Wanda shoved her and began running down G as fast as she was able. The woman stumbled back and pointed a finger as Wanda passed, shouting in the loudest voice Wanda had ever heard:

  “ALL STAND AGAINST YOU!”

  Instantly, every person within earshot pointed at Wanda and repeated the sentence. The resulting roar stopped her in her tracks.

  “ALL STAND AGAINST YOU!” They all stood frozen, pointing at her, as another wave sounded behind them. “ALL STAND AGAINST YOU!” It seemed to echo after that, further and further back, but the sound was really the voices of unseen people on other streets, repeating the words. Finally, the sound died down as the wave reached the outer edges, ending with a haunting “you! you! you!” from different places as the last speakers finished.

  Turning in a circle, Wanda found perhaps two hundred fingers aimed at her. The street was silent again. The woman appeared next to her, using that same quiet voice she had before. “You’d better give me some names, friend.”

  McGuillian Diner

  Li’l Ed couldn’t help questioning his choice of study group, in spite of what his father had said. It was embarrassing, even painful, watching a grown college man lose control over some waitress from this throwaway caste. Wasn’t everyone struggling, every day, to avoid people like that, or at least to keep separate from their fates? Still, Li’l Ed’s father had insisted that there was no problem with Sett’s behavior. By definition, then, there was no problem. Questioning a superior’s judgment was wrong—was evil, even. Doubt cripples any organization.

  There was no debating that the waitresses here were attractive. Li’l Ed’s eyes followed one of them, her pink skirt hugging the curve of her tight little bottom as she swished away.

  Yet here he was, shaky and uncomfortable at the diner with his study group again. His worries had potential to erode group harmony and success, but what could he do? The others didn’t seem to understand how serious it all was.

  “People say the new Departed don’t last long,” Li’l Ed said. Maybe it would help his classmates to remember that the point of school was survival. “The others in the Horde call them ‘fresh meat.’ They’re all starving, anyway—I bet they really do eat the new ones.”

  Matt Ricker and his friends came into the diner. Like Sett, Matt was from a family that owned its own company. Like Sett, Matt often behaved in strange and wild ways.

  Stop it. The matter has been decided. Sett’s behavior is normal!

  Li’l Ed and his friends sat straighter, demonstrating due respect for the Upperclassmen who had immediately taken notice of them upon entering. There were other Upperclassmen in the place; in fact nearly every seat here at this time of day was taken by a Fisher student who outranked them, but none of the others commanded this level of deference. Even Sett, with his own family’s sovereign corporation, was nothing compared to Ricker, whose company had bought him future command as Chief Executive Officer of his own subsidiary. Talking to Matt Ricker was essentially the same as talking to an active CEO!

  Li’l Ed’s heart beat faster. Matt Ricker himself was standing next to their table. “Hello, Firstyears,” he said.

  “Hello, Upperclassmen,” the three boys said in unison.

  They zeroed in on Sett. He was the eldest and thus the de facto leader of the study group, but how had they known that?

  Just good intelligence, that’s how. Matt Ricker knows everything about the company because it’s his job, already, to know.

  After a bit of hazing to remind the Firstyears that they were subject to hierarchy and had better watch themselves, Ricker took the table from them to punctuate the lesson. Li’l Ed snatched up his drink and scurried away. He couldn’t wait to tell his father that he had been face to face with Matt Ricker himself!

  They settled in at another table. “I’m sorry I brought up the fifteen percent again, friends,” Li’l Ed said. “We all know the situation. I need to learn to face it as gracefully as you, focus on my work and my duty instead of fretting over what could happen.” The others muttered and nodded.

  The Upperclassmen at their old table were now handling some waitress roughly. This was probably the kind of situation Li’l Ed’s father had assumed was going on with Sett, but watching this would never have worried Li’l Ed. There was a clear hierarchy of purpose between the Upperclassmen masters and the lowly servant girl. What Sett did was more desperate and personal, more like trying to be her boyfriend. Even now he sat with his eyes locked on his favorite waitress, and not just on the flashes of white panties from beneath her short pink skirt.

  The old man who ran the diner came out and bothered the Upperclassmen. Li’l Ed knew these people had no manners generally, but did the man truly not know any better than to harass someone like Ricker? They ignored the old codger, of course, but he still should have known his place.

  The Upperclassmen let the waitress go and focused their attention on some drunken bum, smacking him around a bit, which Li’l Ed had already been thinking was necessary. Certainly, he’d know better after they taught him some manners. Why had nobody stood up to him before, the way he flaunted his filth and offended decent people in a corporate establishment like this? The upper class was constantly under attack from obnoxious agitators, but now these Upperclassmen were taking the fight back to them.

  Sett’s waitress came charging over toward Ricker. Sett would finally see how annoying and even dangerous these types could be. What was this girl thinking, challenging someone of Ricker’s status? Surely Sett would see—

  The waitress assisted the bum back to his feet. Ricker, understandably insulted by the interference, grabbed her and tried to instruct her in proper etiquette.

  She kicked him!

  The crazy waitress was trying to start class warfare, spitefully attacking her betters this way. The other two Upperclassmen grabbed her and roughed her up a bit. Ricker regained his composure and rejoined the struggle, grabbing the little bitch by the throat. She—she smacked Matt Ricker in the face with her palm!

  He slugged her hard and she went down.

  Finally!

  Sett suddenly launched himself at Ricker and tried to wrap an arm around his neck. Li’l Ed’s mouth hung open in horror. Ricker easily beat Sett about the body and head, putting him down to the floor almost immediately.

  It didn’t matter. The damage was done. Sett had, in one brief moment of insanity, doomed Li’l Ed’s entire career, and consequently, almost certainly, his life.

  Near the Corner of 6th and G, the Zone

  Wanda blinked, focusing internally toward the list Jeremy had flagged for her in her last moments as an Amelix employee. Maybe a name from Jeremy’s page would satisfy these people, whose fingers remained pointed at her as she began to read down the long columns.

  She went on, reading name after name out loud. Not a single one brought even the slightest reaction. “Adam Kirton? Natalia Kopley?”

  She stopped. Her eyes welled with tears. Her throat felt as if a sob had lodged in it, blocking all her words. Finally, she managed in a quiet voice: “Alma Traxler?”

  Her grandmother’s name.

  Silence.

  She cleared her throat and tried it again, louder this time.

  “Alma Traxler!”

  The sob broke loose for a moment and then she recovered, reading on.

  The woman who had accosted her stood watching a cluster of people behind Wanda, evidently looking for a response to any of the names. Quick glances revealed that they, like the first woman, had lowered their arms, though the rest of the crowd remained pointing.

  “Judee Bayar?” she asked. “Berne Komena? Vanessa Reed?” She reached the bottom and stopped, glancing nervously around at the wall of accusing fingers. The woman in front of her did not change her expression, but her eyes flicked behind Wanda.

  “What was the one you just said? Judee someone?” she asked.

  Wanda found it again. “Judee Bayar?”

  The woman looked pas
t Wanda again and then gestured to someone. “Stand on guard,” she said.

  “Stand on guard,” the closest people repeated. Those behind them repeated it again, and the words echoed off into the distance. The fingers lowered but the crowd remained, staring.

  McGuillian Diner

  Li’l Ed felt numb as he watched the fight. Ricker had a knife now. He cut the waitress whore and she went down again.

  She sprung up in a sneak attack and cut him with a broken plate.

  She cut his throat!

  The thought seemed to have been screamed at Li’l Ed from some great distance. This was a terrible offence. A stupid waitress had seriously injured someone who was not only one of her own superiors, but one of Li’l Ed’s own superiors!

  Though Li’l Ed supposed his own status was lost, now. Since Sett had just ruined their careers, Li’l Ed and the waitress would likely be considered part of the same class.

  No! I won’t let that happen. There is no life without the company, and I will serve it even from the Brain Trust. I will fix this. I will find a way.

  Li’l Ed stared blankly, trying to process what he was witnessing. The girl collapsed. Sett appeared next to her, helping her up again.

  Li’l Ed willed his legs to make him stand, to conquer the shock that had taken him over. If he fought Sett now, he could demonstrate that he hadn’t ever been a part of this. He just had to stand up now and kick Sett’s legs out from under him. Instead he stayed frozen in his seat. Sett picked up Ricker’s knife and threatened the Upperclassmen with it! Li’l Ed’s head felt like it was floating away from his body. He nearly vomited.

  “Can anyone help?” Sett asked, scanning the room. Li’l Ed averted his eyes, ashamed he hadn’t been brave enough to stop this craziness. Only the bum came forward. He helped Sett and the girl out of the diner.

  Jack shook his head, wide-eyed. “What was that? What did we just see?”

  “Our friend just sacrificed us,” Li’l Ed said. “For nothing.”