Apocalypse blues x-1

by Walter Greatshell

  Every now and then I was overwhelmed with the numb gratitude of a sweepstakes winner-maybe I was not going to have to suffer and die like the others… or even break much of a sweat. This kind of fantasizing began to occupy more and more of my thoughts, steering them away from uglier matters. Maybe I was set for life! Whatever became of the rest of these people, I was off the hook. I had a man.

  Or did I? What about those who were resentful, who felt I had an unfair advantage? You already have enemies here, Dr. Langhorne had said. You're a threat. What would they do to me? No, the question was, what would I be willing to do to hold on to my advantage? Some deep, grubbing part of me, I knew, would do just about anything. Paranoia and self-loathing added their flavors to my demented euphoria.

  But why should I fear the worst, when Sandoval had all but promised me anything I wanted? I was getting way ahead of myself. This was my chance to take an active role in deciding how the future played out-if Sandoval was so interested in proving himself to me, then he would have to show some goodwill to my friends. Put them under my jurisdiction, maybe, as they had been on the sub. It was too late for Cowper and Hector and Julian and-no… I didn't dare think of them. I wished I could bang on the implant until they went away. But there were many more to save. And if my position was as secure as I hoped, I would work toward more-humanitarian policies for the complex as a whole. We should all be working together!

  A vast sense of responsibility and purpose welled up inside me. Utik was right-I was the Mother of the Future, me. Somehow all this fell to me. But I had to be careful; if I was going to flex my muscles, I would have to tread lightly, come up with a plan. Approach Sandoval. And most of all, beware the jealous envy of the less-enlightened.

  The next day, over our sixth lunch together, I made my case to him.

  "No," he said.

  I was caught short. The brevity of his dismissal was inappropriate to the well-reasoned, inspiring twelve-point proposal I had spent all night drafting.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "Why not?" The question seemed to amuse and disgust him. "Lulu, you're not Eleanor Roosevelt, and I'm not FDR. You're a sweet girl, and I know you had to bring this up as a matter of conscience. I salute you, but that's about it. Now that you've done all you can, try to relax."

  "But you-"

  "No buts!" A trace of anger flashed across his face. Then he relented a bit, and said, "Look, I know where you're coming from. I used to be a charitable man. When you have great wealth, it's easy to be generous, especially when it's tax-deductible. Humanitarian awards, honorary degrees, hospital wings, plaques-I could have had it all if I hadn't given anonymously. But I'm not here today because I was generous. None of us is, not even you. We survived out of pure selfishness and must continue to do so. It may not seem like it, but we're in a school of piranha here: At the first sign of weakness, they attack. Don't look so down in the mouth-I know it sounds cruel, but once you accept the necessity of it, you will begin to see the higher purpose: honoring the gift of life. We won't redress the world's wrongs by sacrificing ourselves. We must exalt ourselves or risk being destroyed by others who exalt themselves."

  "I think that's called looking out for number one."

  Sitting back in his seat, he sighed dejectedly. "Okay, look. You want to see your friends? Here's what's going to happen. I shouldn't be telling you this, but there's going to be a ceremony tomorrow night out at the submarine. Big doings. All the Moguls are going to be there, and your friends will be with them. I had planned to tell you tomorrow, but those big sad eyes are killing me-you could have made a fortune for charity." He held out his hand to me. "Is it a date?"

  Heart slugging like a prizefighter, I nodded and took it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next night, Sandoval personally escorted me from my tent to Utik's armored carriage. We looked impossibly fabulous, I in my jade-and-parchment dress and he in gleaming baronial black tie, as if we were going to some kind of fairy-tale ball. But I felt grotesque, not well. Anxiety had been building and building all day, and the prospect of seeing all those familiar faces again-people it had taken me so long to win over-was caning my stomach like a pinata. What did I have to offer them? What was there to say to each other? I felt like the Whore of Babylon.

  Utik got us situated on the divans with brusque efficiency, paying no special attention to me. Refusing the hot-water bottles, Sandoval said to him, "That's fine, Herman. Let's go, we're running late." Utik nodded and took his seat, barking something to the drivers. The vehicle lurched into motion.

  "Isn't this exciting?" Sandoval asked me, grinning like an idiot.

  I nodded stiffly.

  "Bet you thought you'd never see that submarine again."

  "Are we going on board?"

  "No."

  "Then why aren't we dressed for the outdoors?"

  "You'll see," he said with a mischievous twinkle.

  We sped through the planes, across the airfield, and toward the barrier wall. Looking out a gunport at the Arctic night, I had a brief twinge thinking about the COIL weapon. "They're not going to shoot us by accident, are they?" I asked.

  "No," Sandoval replied. "We have a radio beacon that protects us. You see this?" He produced a hefty pen from his sleeve-it was chained to his wrist-and pushed a button on it. A red spot of light appeared on the wall.

  "Yeah, it's a laser pointer. I've seen lots of people around here with them. What is it with those things?"

  "It's more than a laser pointer. It's also sending out a radio signal to the defensive array. It not only protects us, but anything I point at I can destroy at the touch of a button. One of the perks of Moguldom." He put the thing away, looking pleased as a little kid.

  "Where do you get all this stuff?"

  "Off the shelf, mostly. This is just a cheap computer accessory that we adapted to the existing missile-defense system. That forehead implant is a slightly modified version of life-signs monitors used for years in animal testing."

  "But where does it come from? How does it get here?"

  "We fly it in."

  "From where? Aren't there Xombies everywhere?"

  "Not everywhere. We have a lot of remote bases from which we conduct foraging operations. I have one in Namibia that's fantastic-an abandoned diamond-mining town in the middle of the desert. It has this huge old opera house that you wouldn't believe."

  "But if you have all that, why come here?"

  "Because, my dear, the people we have running those places are not quite as genteel as you and I. In fact, they're murderers and criminals-literally. They're all former prison inmates."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Male convicts represent the single largest proportion of Agent X survivors, especially those who were held in maximum security. The Maenads couldn't get at them. Some of our biggest Moguls are captains of the prison-industrial complex, and they organized the labor pool. It's the best-equipped army in the world today. And the only one, as far as I know. About a million heavily armed thugs, all doing our shopping for us."

  "What do they get out of it?"

  "Peace of mind. Some semblance of order. Life. Without our administrative apparatus, they would degenerate into squabbling factions and be picked off by Maenads. As it is, the attrition rate is…" He stopped himself. "Anyway, trust me, they need us as much as we need them."

  We passed uneventfully through the barrier and continued down a long, gentle grade to the sea.

  At one point in the drive, Sandoval asked, "Would you like to see where we're going?" When I gave a tentative nod, he directed me to a small window up in the vehicle's turret, resting his hand on my waist as I looked.

  Out across the ice was another dome. A lone bubble, dimly glowing in the moonlight.

  "You know, Lulu," he said, "without Agent X to bring us together, we might never have met." Then he kissed me.

  As we pulled up to the dome, men helped us out of the truck and hustled us inside. We passed through a drumlike revo
lving door, then a large antechamber full of parkas and boots, and finally a heavy flap bleeding warm air. I could hear music. Our escorts parted the curtain, and my mouth fell open at the sight that greeted us.

  It was green. Live green grass as far as the eye could see, an achingly sweet-smelling park with sweet music filling the air and banks of stadium lights making the place look like a concert on a summer night. It was a concert. A silvery voice sang the refrain from a mellow Beatles song.

  "That's a lotta sod," said Sandoval, enjoying my reaction.

  Rising like a monument from a flowered mound in the center of the grass was the submarine's fairwater, its dive planes hung with bunting, and four musicians dressed in Sgt. Pepper regalia atop the starboard wing. It was the Blackpudlians. Their lurid purple and yellow stage lights shone hotly on the spectators below, turning them into violet cutouts limned in gold. The turf at the base of the mound was incised with a deep, emerald-lit hole-a bottomless spring with porcelain sides, cut as cleanly as if with a cookie cutter. Surrounding the pool and fanning out across the lawn in all directions was a crowd of exquisitely dressed men-and women. Beautiful young women… just like me.

  Tuxedoed waiters with trays of cocktails circulated through the crowd, eager to please, and as one of them approached us with champagne, I noticed it was Dr. Langhorne.

  "Jim! How nice to see you!" she said, not sounding at all sincere. "Care for something cold?"

  "Why thank you, Alice. I just might do that." He picked up a glass.

  "And your little friend?"

  "She can speak for herself. Lulu, you two have met, haven't you?"

  I nodded, unsure why Dr. Langhorne was so angry.

  "Sure, we've met," she said. "We're just a couple of soul sisters, aren't we?"

  Turning serious, Sandoval leaned toward her, and asked, "Everybody ready?"

  "All is in readiness, sire." She gave a mocking curtsy.

  "It better be. It's all or nothing now."

  "You've always been able to trust me." Without offering me champagne, she smiled poisonously, and said, "Well, I'll be trotting along. If you two need anything, just give me a ring."

  Sandoval smiled sheepishly, and said, "Already have, thanks." When she was gone, he said, "Phew, she's in rare form tonight."

  "What's the matter?"

  "She's my ex-wife." Seeing my dismay, he laughed, "Don't worry about it."

  As we approached the fringes of the crowd, and people began turning to acknowledge Sandoval, I had another unpleasant shock.

  "Oh shit," I said under my breath.

  The beautifully made-up girls that I had been so happy to see were entirely made-up. That is, they were not girls at all, but gleaming-coiffed boys. The boys from the submarine-my boys.

  "Yep, a lotta sod," Sandoval repeated.

  They wobbled on their sinking heels and miserably marked my approach, some arm in arm with their brazen guardians… as indeed I was myself. I recognized Rick and Henry and Sal, Sasha and Derrick, Andy and John, Dexter, Todd, Dan, Freddy, Bryce, Tony, Aram, Kyle, Gen, Lucas, Chuck, Nate, Bill, as well as all the dozens of others whose names I had never properly memorized. Recognized them in spite of the blond falls and rubber boobs and killer clothes and expertly applied foundation and lipstick and eyeliner I knew so well: They had Miss Riggs written all over them, every one.

  Their dates, the Moguls, smirked with joshing camaraderie, some more serious, more sneering, or more envious than others, but all completely in the game. This was their world.

  It was as if a drain in my spine had become unplugged, and all my strength leaked out. I could barely stand. Sandoval felt me lean on him and took it for affection, giving me a squeeze. A scream welled up, and I forced it back, shuddering, admonishing myself to be as strong as the boys. But in my mind I screamed: We should have died! Why didn't we all just die? I wanted to just start running, run free until someone put a dot on me and blew me to bits, but the solemn faces of the boys, weirdly savage in that Kabuki makeup, held me back. They smoldered with the harsh desire to live, and I was shamed by their hideous perseverance.

  Sandoval whispered to me, "Now, Lulu, I know you'll be extremely sensitive to these men's feelings. They want to feel that their companions are every bit as feminine as you."

  I made an involuntary grunt of disgust.

  "I understand," he said. "It's like a comedy, isn't it? But unless you'd embarrass these men, you should be totally respectful. Otherwise, they might take it out on your friends."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means, most of these men are not homosexual. This is a big compromise for them. If they are humiliated, who do you think is going to suffer for it?"

  "Why don't they just stop doing it, then?"

  Sandoval chuckled, kissing the top of my head. "My innocent."

  I stood back demurely, wanting to retch as Sandoval was enveloped by his backslapping peers. The dolled-up boys and I regarded each other amid the swells with an all-knowing blankness, not saying a word.

  More champagne came by on a cart, as well as iced caviar and oysters, and I accepted some-not only to appear calm, but because it was too good to pass up. The boys regarded me with loathing as I ate these delicacies. Apparently that was where they drew the line.

  I began to notice that all the waitstaff were doctors from the research compound, including Dr. Stevens and even Rudy, who was standing off on his own next to a large pet carrier emblazoned RUFF RIDER. Their eagerness to please reminded me of teachers during Open House. In some way they were on trial tonight and were doing everything they could to make a favorable impression.

  No one spoke to me, but Sandoval was congratulated again and again on his "coup"-the right to throw this party and get all these VIPs under one roof. Apparently it was an unprecedented feat of influence. The snide tone of these compliments suggested that he had forfeited a lot for the privilege… perhaps too much.

  "You're a romantic, James," said an olive-skinned man with several chins erupting from his cravat. "A bloody dreamer! The extraordinary concessions you have made and the expectations you have raised-it's shocking to a conservative man like me. It's like the risk you take by claiming this little one." He gestured at me as if I was a pet. "You have two women when others have none-it shows a lack of delicacy. Ah! But what can one do? You lead with your heart."

  "Not my head, eh, Ibn?"

  "I hope not. It is your recklessness that is keeping the other egos in check. You are the lion tamer, James. They are afraid to cross you. But if you fail to impress them tonight, it will be every man for himself. Very bad."

  "That sounds like an ultimatum."

  "I said 'if.' But it sends a confusing signal when tremendous capital is expended for no apparent tactical advantage." The fat man indicated the spectacle around us. "It smacks of desperation."

  "Then I've confused you."

  "Not at all! As a descendant of Shah Jahan, I admire great passion… as well as great folly. But either way, use plenty of raw force to back it up, yes?"

  "I'll try to remember that."

  We reached the pool. It seemed hazardous to me, that deep well in the ice, the Arctic Ocean depths right there in front of us. It was about the size of a large swimming pool, but it was bottomless. My skin crawled as I realized I could see part of the boat's gigantic hull down there in the emerald dark.

  Turning away, I asked Sandoval, "Why don't I recognize any of these men? I've always been a wiz at Jeopardy, but I don't see anybody familiar in here. Bill Gates or whoever."

  "That's because those people were not the true arbiters of power, but only the front men. Wealth is not power-rich men are just cash cows; they generate capital, but those assets are not really theirs. It's these men who control them, from within, just as they do political power. And can use them at will. They hold the keys to the kingdom, the secret passwords that open back doors into every significant enterprise on Earth."

  "How did they get them?"

  "Birthright,
for the most part. They wouldn't be here otherwise, and they know it. That's why publicity is not something a truly powerful man seeks, because it only reveals what an obnoxious parasite he is. But anonymity is a commodity like everything else, and he can buy all he needs. He operates through many layers of intermediaries in order to accomplish what he wants to in complete privacy and freedom. If his full range of interests was to be known, barriers would rise, so he makes sure he can attack from many different angles, using his pawns in business, government, religion-whatever-to do his bidding for him."

  "Why do they?"

  "It's their only purpose."

  "The corrupt ones."

  "'Corrupt' is a misleading word. It makes more sense to say 'conservative,' because they're only doing what they've always done. Familiarity and tradition are much more effective tools of manipulation than money."

  Wilting, I asked, "Is that why the world was so messed up? With wars and everything? Because of you people?"

  "Lulu, we're not God. We can't change human nature-all we can do is cash in on it. I'll tell you one thing: Nothing purifies a corrupt or stagnant system better than all-out war. Total destruction can be healthy."

  "Would you say we're healthy now?"

  "Hey, at least the Arabs and Jews aren't fighting anymore."

  Nearing the front of the crowd, Sandoval and I paused to appreciate the music. The Blackpudlians were wrapping up a blistering version of "Come Together"-they looked like they were singing for their lives up there, drenched in sweat. It was hard not to climb the flower bed and touch the sail. It was so unreal. I wanted to ask Sandoval what this evening was all about-what was the big mystery?-but the music was too loud for conversation. Some of the Moguls were weeping nostalgic tears, eyes closed in reverent appreciation.

  The song ended, leaving a residue of applause like silt in a bucket after the amplified music, and the band took a bow. As they did so, a couple of them saw me and nudged the others. Their eyes seemed to say, Look out. I nodded back. Then they sardonically addressed the crowd, in character as John, Paul, George, and Ringo.