The Book of Wanda, Volume Two of the Seventeen Trilogy

by Mark D. Diehl

  “What if he’s not capable of understanding what you want him to?” Checking herself, Wanda added, “Helper.”

  “Then he’s less comfortable than he could be otherwise,” Leesa said. “But what if he is capable of understanding, and we’re just not trying hard enough? Then he pays for our carelessness through all eternity.”

  “Maybe he can ease into it more slowly, Helper,” Wanda said, consciously lowering her tone and her chin. “He’s so frail and sickly; I don’t think he can take much of this.”

  “He is sickly, and that’s why we’re so determined to help him be Saved and protected. The Saved are a community united only by belief, at war with the most dangerous and truly evil demons ever to slither across Earth.” Leesa said. “If he can’t be made to believe, he’s not truly Saved. It is hard work to help him learn, but I’m willing to make whatever sacrifice it takes to save him.”

  The two women stared at each other. Finally Wanda said, “He’ll have to stay here for at least a few days to heal, Helper.”

  “I’ll have to stay with him. Until he’s clearly one of us he can’t be in Saved territory without an escort.”

  Wanda turned away, heading toward the lab. “Of course, Helper. I’m sure the Saved know best.”

  Office of the Amelix Integrations Medical Doctor

  Gregor Kessler undressed slowly, folding each item he removed and placing it into the locker that had been provided. Finally naked, he checked his body to ensure that all hair was within respectful limits of length. A bit of his pubic hair had grown too long so he used the clippers that were provided. Having ensured his grooming was up to standard, he exited the preparatory chamber.

  Kessler made his way up the small ladder to the examination frame and took his position as directed by the initial preparation video: one knee in each of the little cups, his forehead bowed to the folded towel on a narrow bioplexi ledge at the front of the apparatus, and his hands clasped behind his back.

  He closed his eyes, mentally rehearsing what he was to say. Now that his preconditioning work with Chelsea had brought him a top-secret security clearance, he’d been pulled into another project with her. The new one warranted this appointment with the real Amelix Medical Doctor, the same supremely powerful individual he and Chelsea had crossed in advocating for the Board decision. The Amelix Medical Doctor had demanded it, in fact.

  Kessler couldn’t resist rolling his head to peer behind him as he heard Chelsea emerge from her own preparatory chamber. They were early for the Medical Doctor’s appearance, anyway, in accordance with the instructions they had been given, so he’d have time to retake the formal position. Chelsea was lovely, with a perfect Golden figure and complexion. Her dark hair matched the perfectly trimmed strip of pubic hair below, and she had perfect palm-sized breasts capped with pert little nipples just slightly darker and pinker than the rest of her complexion. She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow at him, which would have seemed almost playful if not for her stern expression. He averted his eyes quickly, settling his forehead back on the towel. This woman met regularly with Walt Zytem, and Kessler would always be her subordinate. Keeping her happy was of paramount importance.

  After the recent Board decision the Medical Doctor would not be happy with either of them, but he did not anticipate that her displeasure would significantly affect the outcome of their petition. Medical Doctors had their own kind of conditioning program, and they took an oath that made them put their company’s interest first.

  Kessler breathed in and out deeply. He was about to be in the same room with the one who held absolute authority over every human body in all of Amelix.

  He distracted himself by listening intently as Chelsea settled each knee into a cup, and noting how doing so had bent and spread his own legs. In his peripheral vision, he saw only hints of her as she put her forehead down and folded her hands behind her back.

  It was difficult to keep track of time this way. There was some discomfort in his lower back and his face felt smashed against the towel, but there was nothing to see and no activity against which he could measure the passing minutes.

  Finally the lights dimmed and brightened, and a single chime sounded to alert them to the Medical Doctor’s arrival. A Medical Doctor’s time was so precious that everything possible had to be done to avoid wasting even a second of it.

  A door opened where before there had only been smooth wall, and he felt the Medical Doctor’s hand on the back of his head, working its way down his back and then sliding along the outside of his leg. “Name?” she asked him, sliding her hand up one thigh and cupping his testicles.

  “Gregor Kessler, Esteemed,” he said, accenting the ee sound of the honorific as she gave his scrotum a strong tug. She clucked her tongue at him, running her hand along his opposite inner thigh and then reaching behind him to feel the outer part. She turned to Chelsea, starting at the back of her head. “And you?”

  “Zabeth Chelsea, Esteemed.”

  “Mm. So you’re the one Zytem mentioned in his message as my point of contact. The two of you are Mr. and Mrs. two-thirty sub q, aren’t you? Perhaps I should congratulate you both on having taken the reconditioning process out of my jurisdiction.”

  Chelsea inhaled quickly. Kessler knew better than to turn his head.

  “Hm,” the Medical Doctor said, apparently reading something through her EI. “Your pallor and trembling are at the high end of the spectrum, but I suppose that’s to be expected when one considers you’re meeting with me today. Otherwise I would almost suspect you of going through chemical withdrawal right now …” Her voice trailed off again. She clucked her tongue again. “Except that I have reports of every chemical that has been in your system, spanning from today all the way back through your prenatal days.”

  “Nervousness, Esteemed,” Chelsea said. “Our meeting is not under ordinary circumstances, Esteemed, as you in your wisdom have already pointed out.”

  “No, certainly not ordinary circumstances. It’s not often I get to meet such worthy adversaries, right here in my clinic.”

  “We—” she grunted. “We meant no disrespect, Esteemed,” Chelsea said. “We argued what we thought the regulations meant. We’re Accepted, Esteemed; we could only ever do what we truly felt was best for the organization.”

  The Medical Doctor came to the head side of both frameworks, which she pulled together and lowered. Kessler could feel the warmth radiating from Chelsea’s thigh, though they were not actually touching. The Medical Doctor’s fingers came under Kessler’s forehead and lifted, but the knee cups lowered and shifted as his head moved so that he was now kneeling mostly upright. He sensed motion to his right that suggested Chelsea was being put into the same position. An accidental glimpse of the Medical Doctor in his peripheral vision suggested her appearance was consistent with his expectations. She was dressed in white, and perfectly hairless like all Statused individuals. It was a terrible insult to look directly at a Medical Doctor; people of the lower classes even had a superstition that doing so could make a person go blind. For all Kessler knew, maybe it was true.

  “You’re the ones with power over the mind,” the Medical Doctor said. “You’re the psyche and I’m the flesh, isn’t that what the Board decided?” She held Kessler’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, moving her face into his field of view as she spoke. “Isn’t that right, Doctor Kessler?”

  Kessler jerked his eyes so hard toward the wall they seemed to stick there. “We are merely instruments of Amelix, Esteemed,” he said, trying to overcome his urge to squirm away from her. “I understood the Board’s ruling was that the Esteemed Doctor and the Board share power over the psyche. Of course, my tiny brain is insignificant compared to the Esteemed Doctor’s or the Board’s collective understanding of the issue, Esteemed.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yet you asked for bactrohypnotics to be added to food rations for everyone, company-wide, so that your preconditioning program could work. A bactrohypnotic is a drug, Doctor Kessler
, a drug you needed administered to every human body within my patient corporation, yet the Board decided that I’m required to authorize this. Explain that.”

  “Please accept my thousand apologies, Esteemed,” Kessler said. His voice trembled, as did the rest of him. “This worker’s feeble mind cannot guess at the intricacies of the Board’s decision making process, any more than it could comprehend the brilliance that is inherent in our Medical Doctor’s mind, Esteemed. I am only fit to serve Amelix in corporate regulations, my area of focus, Esteemed. I believe, however, that the Board’s decision means that while the Esteemed Medical Doctor determines the chemical composition of workers’ bodies, the corporation is in charge of their social issues, like jobs, housing, and relationships. Thus the Board decided that it was proper for the corporation to determine only whether the bactrohypnotics should be administered, leaving the dosage to your impeccable discretion, Esteemed.”

  The Medical Doctor stayed silent, walking once around them in a circle. “Typical corporate doublespeak,” she said finally. “By determining that bactrohypnotics are necessary at all, the company is making a medical decision. Your part in all this has weakened the practice of medicine, but as you’ve said, you’re too stupid even to see it. Now I have you two here today, asking for something new. You’ll understand if I’m not inclined to give you much, but let’s not waste any more of my time. Start talking.”

  Chelsea cleared her throat. “As you know, Esteemed, our building in the CBD was vaporized by a nuclear weapon. We are constructing new buildings, here in the Great Midwestern Desert outside the CBD, and outside other cities worldwide, that are capable of physically relocating themselves. That is, they will be able to move away from threats, thereby safeguarding equipment, employees, and other company assets. Dr. Zytem, in his wisdom, anticipated the need for this long before the recent attack. He initiated the design and development process for these buildings quite some time ago. Because he foresaw not only the terrorist threat but also the danger of radioactive and biohazardous fallout, he insisted that the new structures have the ability to seal themselves completely, protecting all workers and maintaining work space in the event of nuclear, chemical, or biological attack. However, if such action should ever prove necessary, we expect that being sealed up might cause some issues, especially in the long term.”

  “It was in your memo,” the Medical Doctor said. “You’re asking me to up the dosages of compounds that encourage cooperation and obedience, for work in close quarters,” the Medical Doctor said.

  “Yes, Esteemed. Only during times when the buildings are sealed; we were hoping that with your Esteemed permission we could program synthesizers to do it automatically upon sealing. That was part of the issue, Esteemed. But in addition, we humbly seek your approval in establishing reconditioning-style wave manipulations and sleep reprogramming. In case of emergency, the offices will need to keep functioning with a single shift of workers—those that happen to be on duty when the building is sealed. To maintain optimal functionality, we feel the capability to alter sleep patterns for those remaining within the structure would be crucial.”

  “Not every worker is suitable for that kind of duty,” the Medical Doctor said.

  Kessler cleared his throat. He had not been asked to speak again, and wouldn’t, unless the Medical Doctor gave him permission. She did not, but Chelsea apparently felt empowered to continue.

  “Every worker in the organization is Accepted now, Esteemed, thanks to the preconditioning program. From that pool, we are screening for appropriate personalities before assigning anyone to serve inside the new buildings. Other employees can continue to work in the older structures or even from corporate housing until they become incapacitated. We see a need for something more than standard antidepressants and mood stabilizers to ensure predictable cooperation under the direst of circumstances, the times when the very existence of Amelix Integrations is threatened.”

  The Medical Doctor turned away from Chelsea, focusing on Kessler again. “Every worker at every company in the world is already at the maximum dose of every synthesizable compound known to ease surrender of individual will,” the Medical Doctor said. “It is the standard of care.” Her hand appeared under Kessler’s chin, lifting it so that he looked mostly at the ceiling and the uppermost edge of the wall before him. She was beside him, speaking in a voice that sounded more like a lab tech muttering to herself, turning his head this way and that. “Why would Zytem insult me this way, sending you?”

  “I was brought today to answer any questions you may have, Esteemed, about preconditioning or any applicable corporate regulations,” Kessler said. The last part came out as a vibrating slur, as the Medical Doctor ran her fingers down his chin, squeezing his throat just below his jawbone.

  The Medical Doctor froze like that, peering at Kessler’s head. “Regulations are for keeping workers doing what they’re supposed to do. My focus is the health of the entire corporation. Regulations work around me.”

  “Yes, Esteemed,” he said. “I—”

  Her fingers came up from under his chin, covering his mouth. “Shh, shh, shh. Everything your department does is beneath me. You should not have come here today.” She turned back to Chelsea. “I’ll give you the wave manips and sleep mods, under emergency protocol only, and only for workers pre-screened for duty inside the new buildings. Is this all?”

  “Yes, Esteemed. Thank you, Esteemed.”

  The door opened and the Medical Doctor vanished.

  The Zone

  It had been days since Dok’s last bowl of mildew soup, when he had still been living in the Subjects’ tunnels. Since then he had consumed three cockroaches and three cups of acidic rainwater he’d neutralized with some ground limestone. He was proud about the roaches: He had hunted one of the few forms of wildlife left in the world, proving himself human in the way of the ancient mastodon hunters. On the concrete next to him sat his bag with his few possessions: his pressure cooker, a few bactroherbal compounds, and the strange little notebook that had once meant so much to Eadie.

  The pressure cooker was what had prompted him to search out this corner of the crumbling building and collapse, however long ago that had been. Dok was unable to bear its weight any longer, but still unwilling to give it up.

  The euphoric state brought on by blood ketones in late-stage starvation was beginning to blossom. Where someone with a normal state of health might have lasted significantly longer out here, Dok had been living underground for months on a diet of fungi. His body wouldn’t make it another forty-eight hours, and at this point even twelve seemed unlikely.

  He opened his eyes and found that he was surrounded by Fiends. This fact neither worried nor surprised him. His bag disappeared, and then one of the Fiends held up the pressure cooker. “A cooking pot,” the Fiend said. The voice sounded female. “Don’t look like that did him much good.”

  Would they kill him, now? They wouldn’t waste a bullet on him but they might slit his throat. It didn’t matter.

  “Wait,” another voice came. “Hey, you there. Black man. Were you the doctor down in the tunnels? The one who knew the samurai?”

  There was only one man who could have asked the question: the Fiend who had been Brian’s commander, the man who had come into the tunnels and negotiated with the Subjects. He and Dok had spoken once. Looking up at the man, Dok recognized the handle of a samurai sword angling up from behind his back in one direction, and the butt of a gun in the other.

  Dok closed his eyes again and ran his dry tongue across his lips. “Coin Man?”

  “Heh. Coiner, yeah,” the man responded. “The Subjects thought you were a miracle worker, with your potions and treatments.”

  “Medicine is the applied knowledge of mankind,” Dok said. Perhaps at this point he was only thinking it. It was likely that these Fiends were just a hallucination. His grip on reality was loosening as he melted down into the gravel. “It’s the sharing of that knowledge that constitutes a miracle. I’
m merely the conduit for what our species has figured out together over the centuries.”

  “Yeah, I remember you,” Coiner said. “Kicked out of there because you messed with their religion, right?”

  Dok didn’t answer.

  “The Subjects don’t want you or your services anymore, but I think we might find you valuable. Somebody grab him and carry him back with us. Give him some water. I’m going to present Top Dog with a new doctor to put in his new clinic.”

  One of Coiner’s Fiends raised his rifle and fired a single shot into a corner of the building. He lowered it again and answered Coiner’s accusing stare.

  “It was a rat, sir. Watching us, there. Pretty rare. You hardly ever see them anymore. Nice meat, you know, sir.”

  “Where is it?” Coiner asked.

  “I…I missed, sir.”

  “You wasted a shell shooting a stupid rat, and you missed? At this distance?”

  “It was strange, sir. It was standing still right there, up on its hind legs, watching us. There was this rage…it felt like I had no choice but to kill it. I wasn’t even thinking, sir. I raised my rifle and had a clean shot. Right when I was going to pull the trigger, it bolted, real fast. Like it knew exactly when I was going to shoot.”

  The School

  “Ernesto!”

  The mechanical parts of this old electric toothbrush were made of plastic. Ernesto lined them up on the table, inspecting each one. Plastic gears were soft and they wore out easily, but they didn’t rust.

  “Ernesto! This is not the time for that.”

  The toothbrush had corrosion at the place where batteries were supposed to go. He could clean it off with some grit, but sometimes corroded metal pieces fell apart when he did that.

  A hand swished between the table and his face, sweeping away the plastic gears to fall like raindrops to bounce on the floor. The hand picked up the toothbrush body and held it in front of Ernesto’s eyes.