Living in Syn

by Bobby Draughon

  Mission kissed her again and said, "No really. Let me tell you what I'm planning for you."

  He whispered in her ear and she surrendered quickly.

  Later, they laid on the bed and talked idle talk. Then Mission asked, "What have you heard from Sabrina?"

  "Well, she hasn't been able to slip away and her transmission failed as unrecognizable."

  "How so?"

  "Garbled, unable to confirm integrity."

  "What about the parity bits?"

  "Stripped or blended, it's impossible to tell. Elliot says this is one of the risks of going with high burst transmissions. We'll get the next one."

  They were silent for a while and then Susan said, "Mission, recognize how vulnerable a naked man is and tell me why you are cleaning your gun and drinking iced tea."

  "We're going into the Winwood on Sunday."

  "When were you going to tell me?"

  "I don't know. I wanted to spare you the worry and me the arguments."

  "Mission, I'm going to spare you the pain of retirement. I'll kill you before you get that old. So, you are going to indulge your macho, death wish fantasies again?"

  "Susan, I have to do this. I have to."

  "Why? Some debt of honor, some act of revenge for Miller? Do you think Miller wants you to die for him? Is it more important to honor him than to spend your life with me?"

  "Oh, well that's fair. I can't necessarily explain this, but I can tell you it is so elemental to me, that if I don't do it, Mission doesn't exist anymore. Then you definitely don't have me here as your partner. At least going to the Winwood, I have a chance to come back to you."

  Susan trembled with anger. "That is so slippery. You've gotten by with that kind of crap all your life, haven't you? Well, it doesn't make it with me. You risked your life for fourteen years. How long is enough? Do you intend to do this till you die trying? Or are you going to retire undefeated?"

  Mission exploded. "I don't know. How the hell can I tell you what I'm going to do when I don't know myself? We'll have some extra money after this mission and I thought I'd check into an alcohol program and see if changing that part of my life would help to surface any new career options. That and planning on making love to you every day and taking you out to dinner and movies are about as far as my plans go."

  Susan nodded and said, "The dinner and movies part sounds good."

  Mission threw a pillow at her and then grabbed her and held her close. "I may entertain macho fantasies, but I do not have a death wish. We'll be eating Chinese takeout come Sunday night."

  "If not, I'm giving your ashes to my father."

  68

  Carson, Montag, and Pete met at Mission's apartment for weapons check, as it was closest to the Free Zone. They put on the flak suits first and then their grunge clothes selected specially for life in the Zone. Then they strapped on the vests. The pockets and loops for their weapons and equipment were located on the sides.

  Mission turned to Pete and said, "I've been meaning to ask. Why is everything pushed to the sides on these vests?"

  The Army compiled millions of stats on bad soldiers, great soldiers, and mediocre ones. No matter what, the odds say if you take a hit, it will be to the chest area. A flak suit doesn't help if the shot triggers a grenade hanging on your chest. Make sense?"

  Mission nodded. "I knew there had to be a reason."

  They put their contact lenses in and then went to work on their firearms, fitting the holsters around the vest rigs. Mission had twice the trouble getting his Glock and his battery pack situated. Mission added his topcoat and they looked at the flak suit hoods. They were designed to look like sweat suit hoods and they came with tiny speakers for the ears. Fortunately they didn't look strange with the hoods since it was January and about 36o outside.

  Mission said, "I'll approach from the north and stop about two blocks short of the hotel. Arrival time at noon. Car and Montag approach from the east and stop two blocks past at 12:30. Pete approaches from the west and picks up Car and Montag at 12:45 and meet me in front of the Winwood steps at 12:50. Are we ready?"

  Montag nodded solemnly. Carson bobbed his head and the sheer intensity in Pete's eyes said yes, yes, yes. The time was upon them.

  Mission pulled in a lungful of smoke and smiled. He sprawled on the littered and broken pavement of an alleyway with three other drunks. He got his double shot first and then passed the bottle over to the winos. Pete almost died when Carson told him that Mission wouldn't wear a watch, but he would get over it. Mission estimated it was a little after 12:45 and he rose unsteadily and plotted a weaving course in the direction of the Winwood.

  He moved to just outside the steps of the hotel and steadied himself on the railing, swinging around in a slow arc that revealed Montag and Pierce about twenty-five yards behind Pete and approaching slowly. They were close enough to cover Mission and, as they agreed, he went up the stairs first. Junkies laid on the landing on either side of the doors and as Mission pulled on the right side door handle, a monstrous man, at least seven feet and 380 pounds appeared.

  His voice ran so low it was like a foghorn. "Who the hell are you?"

  Mission said, "I just wanna come in for a minute."

  He looked around and noticed the junkies were unusually alert since he had touched the door. Goliath said, "I don't know you. You get the hell out of here."

  The door slammed shut and Mission staggered back down the steps, although he had definitely blown his cover. He made his way to the alley beside the hotel and noticed the others moving in the opposite direction. They would meet him to confer.

  Mission extended a bottle and Pete grabbed it and took a swig. They huddled as Pete passed the bottle on to Carson and Mission whispered, "Goliath there fills the whole damned doorway and those junkies laying around are guards too. We won't get in without a big scuffle."

  "Hey! Hey you guys!" They looked up to see a fifteen or sixteen year old kid with a weird patterned haircut and an Army jacket over chinos motioning to them. Mission moved over first with the rest following.

  "Whatcha want kid?"

  "Money. I saw you. All of you. You want in the hotel. There's five different service entrances in the back. I'll show you where you can crawl in the laundry chute for a hundred bucks."

  Mission looked at the rest of them and then turned back to the kid. "Done. When we see the entrance."

  The kid motioned for them to follow and walked them through the alley. Mission stayed closest to him and a thought hit him. "What about guards up top?"

  The kid pointed up toward the southeast corner and his arm pulled far enough out of his Army jacket sleeve to reveal a Doctor Robert tattoo. The file cards spun like lightning in Mission’s mind. …Doctor Robert was a song…a song from The Beatles Revolver…a song written by…John Lennon…

  He was a Johnson! Mission knocked the kid flat yelling, "Retreat!"

  The cardboard boxes and trash piles erupted with five Johnsons, screaming and charging with knives almost long enough to qualify as machetes. Carson, Montag, and Mission hit the ground while drawing their weapons. Pete only went down on a knee and sprayed the alley with his Stiletto. The brick wall of the building in front of him threw off huge chips of masonry as the ionized charges exploded into flame.

  Four of the Johnsons died on the spot. The fifth one screamed in tortured agony. He had a least three shots in the abdomen and the fire was eating him up. Pete walked up to him and fired a shot into his forehead. Mission screamed, "What in the fuck did you do that for?"

  "Hey, this is the Zone. Anything goes."

  Mission looked at Pete for a second and then hit him so quickly with a left to the face, it was difficult to believe it actually happened. Mission stood over him and hissed, "You like this too goddamned much. You kill without a reason again, and I'll drop you on the spot."

  He was about to give Wells even more grief when he realized a crowd formed at the entrance to the alley and was impeding several of the junkie hotel guards.
Mission caught Montag's eye and motioned toward the junkies. Montag understood immediately and moved toward the crowd, along the hotel wall to avoid any lookouts on the roof.

  Mission motioned to Carson and Pete and they moved in the opposite direction. Mission whispered, "We drew the interest of the guards. Montag is taking them out with the interrupters. If we catch a break, Goliath may come out on the steps to see if he can figure out what's going on."

  Carson finished for him. "And we come up from the opposite side and get in the hotel behind him. How did you know it was an ambush?"

  "Doctor Robert tattoo on his wrist. Definitely one of the sons of John."

  He looked at Pete and nodded toward Goliath. "Don't kill this guy. We knock him down the steps and he won't get up for a while."

  Pete said nothing. They reached the back of the hotel and raced across it to the alley. The kid lied. Everything in back was welded and padlocked shut. They reached the end of the alley and took a cautious right. They came to the steps and Mission motioned for Carson to give him a boost. Crouching on Carson's shoulders, Mission could peek under the bottom of the stair railing. Sure enough, Goliath kept moving a step or two from the door to look over toward the alley, wondering why the junkies hadn't reported back.

  Mission motioned down for Carson and Pete to give him a push on three. He mouthed the count and on three pulled on the railing with all his strength as they pushed him up. Mission let go and grabbed the step railing at the top. He gained enough momentum to swing over and onto the landing. Goliath saw him and turned but it was too late. Mission stood between him and the door. As Goliath pulled back his right hand, Mission kicked him on the left kneecap. The shock of the blow gave Mission time to set up for a kick directly to the sternum. Goliath tumbled over backwards down the steps and lay very still at the bottom.

  Mission looked down to see Montag giving him the thumbs up signal and then Pete and Carson joined him at the top of the stairs. Mission took a deep breath. They all had their right hands inside their coats. Nothing suspicious there. He opened the door and they calmly walked in.

  There was no one inside. They walked through what was once the lobby of a grand hotel. Now it was arranged like a sort of flea market church. Mission always felt uncomfortable inside magnificent churches with elaborate pipe organs and stained glass, and velvet and pewter and so on.

  Perhaps he would feel more comfortable in this place. Abandoned sofas, weather beaten lawn furniture, picnic benches, school desk/seats, a section of movie theater chairs, and any other type of seat imaginable were all arranged into rows with a center aisle leading to a three step elevated area. At the front of that area stood a four-foot refrigerator with the door open and what looked to be a family Bible on top. The pulpit. Behind the makeshift pulpit sat a reclining chair which now served as a throne. It was spray painted purple and draped with imitation gold chains and other jewelry. Old, torn oriental rugs hanging from the ceiling covered the walls. Perhaps their purpose was to cover all the windows or perhaps to deaden the sounds of the Zone outside. They moved more than halfway down the aisle and still no one appeared. That seemed strange for such vigilant protection right outside the door.

  Mission cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Hello! Is anyone here?"

  He stopped and listened. Nothing. He would try again. "Hello! We are looking for Paine! My name is ... "

  A voice from somewhere beyond their sight said, "You are Pilate. Pontius Pilate. I know all about you."

  Up from behind the throne stepped a bearded, robed, long haired man with eyes like twin beacons. It could only be Paine. He pointed at Mission and said, "I know all about you. You are a murderer and a mercenary and yet you come to me today, too moral to kill me yourself. You come here to wash your hands of me and turn me over to a frothing and foaming crowd, shaking your head sadly and saying that at least my death is not on your hands."

  Mission shook his head. "I am no Pontius Pilate, I am here as a negotiator. And you are definitely no Christ."

  Paine looked at Mission with eyes still blazing. "I am willing to look at this from your point of view. Perhaps I should call you Burke instead?"

  Mission felt like he was back in school, and being severely tested. What did he remember about Edmund Burke? He cocked his head to the side. "Maybe. He rooted for the American revolutionaries and opposed the French? You know why? Because one group did it the right way. The French, not so much. Combat models? Assassinations? You don’t deserve to lead. And I’m already tired of your games. I’m here to negotiate."

  Paine jumped up to the pulpit and pointed along finger at Mission. "Good for you! Strip away the deceptions. Get to the heart of it. You keep saying you’re here to negotiate but you all carry weapons to kill me and my people."

  He moved to the side so they could see his entire body and he made a dramatic gesture, raising both of his arms to the heavens. Then he looked at them confidentially, almost conspiratorially. "I will make the first gesture of honesty and sincerity."

  He moved back to his throne and reached up to grab the bottom of the rug that hung on that wall. He tugged on it and it fell to the ground.

  Mission looked up and said, "Oh Jesus!" The rest of the team gasped along with him. Upside down on the wall hung Sabrina, crucified. A single nail pierced both her feet and then a nail through each wrist. They had burned her eyes out and blood trickled down across her face and through her hair.

  Paine yelled, "Start it back up!"

  A slow stream of water ran down over her and Paine picked up a rod which he touched to her. Sparks jumped off her and she screamed pure agony. Paine seemed delighted.

  "Just enough volts to trip every nerve in her body, but not enough for any permanent damage. I'm afraid I can't say the same for you."

  Mission turned and looked at more than twenty synthetics training weapons on them. He saw another twenty or so still rolling out from underneath the old sofas and other pieces of covered seating.

  Paine looked at them abstractly. "You know, Peter's guilt in denying Christ was so great that he insisted on being crucified upside-down. Do you think it's an act that builds character?"

  He jumped down and approached Mission. "Alright Pilate. It's time for the two of us to talk. You and your followers can throw down your weapons so you and I can chat, or you can all die now. We didn't destroy Sabrina's ears, so she can hear your screams when they come. I'm excited about either option."

  Mission dropped his Glock on the floor and said, "Why, I'm dying to talk to you, Paine."

  He turned and motioned for the others to follow suit. Each of them only dropped one firearm and the syns seemed content to leave it at that. Perhaps it had something to do with the forty to four odds.

  69

  They entered what appeared to be a private throne room. Great. This guy's not crazy. Paine seated himself on his throne and Mission took a more pedestrian chair.

  "So, Paine, what do want to talk about?"

  Paine leaned forward and said, "First it's Judas that interests me. You paid him to betray me?"

  Mission couldn't contain his irritation. "I am really trying, Paine, but can't you drop this metaphorical crap? I don't know anyone named Judas!"

  Paine smiled. "Do you believe the name he gave you is any more substantial? Just another pseudonym he adopted for purposes of deception. But to speed things along, I will say that he is the one who calls himself Atwood."

  "Yes, I spoke with Arthur several times. A very intelligent and wise person. I think New Angeles is in quite capable hands."

  "As opposed to the Winwood Kingdom, is that what you are saying?"

  "I don't know much about you yet. I do know Arthur would never allow a crucifixion."

  "But he would betray his mentor to save his own pathetic little existence!"

  "Look, I can't mediate some argument between you and Arthur. But if you're betrayed, why hasn't the Army simply finished things, just disintegrated this building?"

  "Pretense
s. Your arbitrary social conventions. You delude yourself into thinking that you maintain a value system and that your life is infused with meaning if you follow your little rules. You are one of the Knights of the Round Table. If I fall, you wait for me to get up before resuming combat. Instead of killing me outright, you come here to offer me banishment to New Angeles. Only after I refuse, will you kill me, and then you can sit in your easy chair at home with your woman by your side, feeling smug and self-righteous that you did everything you could for me."

  His eyes were wild as he screamed, "I will not be exiled! I will not be shelved and forgotten!"

  He jumped off of his throne and ran behind Mission's chair and then moved his head over to the side, with his face no more than six inches from Mission's ear. "I am the Christ. And you Pilate, you will play out your part. The lives of your comrades depend on it."

  Mission turned and said, "Fine. You're not of my race and I won't judge you. Show me your Herod, your ruler of the synthetics and I’ll turn you over to him for judgment."

  Paine trembled with anger. Mission had outsmarted Paine by remembering that Pilate turned Christ over to the crowd on his second visit. On his first, Pilate sent him to Herod since Christ was Hebrew.

  Paine screamed, "My destiny is not to follow every detail of the Gospels. My destiny is that of a Savior. Don't deny that our roles are quite clear. From the beginning, my vision set these tortured souls free. My destiny is to carve into the landscape a message so profound and enduring that it influences the foundations of civilization from here on out. Only a martyr can make such an impact. Your role is that of Pilate. To deliver your ultimatum and then destroy me when I refuse to surrender."

  Mission shook his head. "You don't get it. I'm not going to kill you. Why are you so eager to die?"

  Paine moved almost on top of Mission and his eyes seemed to envelope the entire room. "You don't get it. I will raise from the dead!"