by Jeff South
“Hey!”
I turn toward the opening of the River Luau to see Jeff sprinting toward us.
“Hey! We gotta go!” He stops long enough to grab me and pull me along. “A shitload of Herpezoid carnies are coming!”
“What are you talking about?” I ask him.
“I tried to steal Miss America back and they caught me!” He sprints past me. “We gotta go!”
My phone buzzes with a text message. It’s Randi.
Come to Corporate HQ! NOW!
“Looks like Randi needs us,” I say.
“Fine!” Jeff stops and waves his arm to follow. “But let’s get outta here.”
“I’ll fight these guys off.” Marlene stretches her neck from side to side and it crackles. “I need to let off some steam and this will be better than going to the gym.”
“What?” Jeff says. “By yourself?”
“Don’t question it,” I tell him. “She can handle it.”
“I’m not questioning anything,” Jeff says. “That’s freaking hot.”
“Right?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My phone explodes with a barrage of texts from Randi explaining her situation.
Max is definitely the mole.
Major nest of Araneae at Corporate HQ.
Max plans to release them. Found his plans.
Call me ASAP!!
Jeff taps a few buttons on the Cosmic Bus’s touchscreen dashboard display and a video image of Randi on her phone fades into view on the console monitor where the radio normally would be. She is crouched in an enclosed area I can’t quite determine.
“This is bad,” Randi whispers. “Worse than I thought, actually.”
“What’s the situation?” I ask.
“I found some intel on Max by hacking his email. He’s been planning to use the Araneae to create super agents that would do what he wanted. The plan was for them to work security at GrandEarth. He cut a deal with Grandor.”
“Where’s the nest?” I ask her.
“It’s in the Research & Development lab. Heavy security there.”
“Where are you now, Randi?” Jeff asks.
“I’m in the ladies room. Max won’t come in here. That would be a serious HR violation.”
“Stay put!” Jeff barks. “We’re coming for you!”
*
Why am I here?
I’m not asking because I’ve been shooting myself repeatedly with the Existential Crisis Inducer. This time I’m asking in the metaphysical, meaning-of-life way. Is this the moment my life has been leading to? Does God exist and did He/She/They determine my life path before I was ever born? If so, then God knew before the creation of everything that I would be sitting in a 1969 VW Bus with my best friend preparing to raid the headquarters of a mysterious private company which specializes in the protection of an intergalactic portal so we can rescue our co-worker and prevent spider-like artificial intelligence called Araneae from being unleashed on my unsuspecting hometown. If I’m to believe in a benevolent higher power, then I’m also to believe He/She/They preordained all of this. Those are a lot of moving parts for one kid’s life.
We enter the parking lot at HQ and Jeff pulls into a space specifically reserved for visitors, but he’s always been a rebel like that. Our moms sit in a Winnebago on the fairgrounds. We don’t know where Simon Tybalt is. Jackleigh has been eerily silent and Grandor the Malevolent left us to do whatever he does. Yet, here I sit in the passenger seat of the Cosmic Bus as Jeff listens to “Renegade,” by Styx, to get pumped up.
“What is our plan?” I ask. “How are we going to do this?”
“Plan? We’re gonna kick ass. That’s our plan!”
“Oh, god.” I rub my face in frustration. Loose cannon philosophy will not serve us well here. I close my eyes and draw a deep cleansing breath. “Let me access some tactical training or something in this nano in my head and we can figure something out.”
“The plan is to walk into Corporate, get Randi and the Araneae shit or whatever, and leave.”
“You are aware of the extreme security in this place right? You can’t waltz in there. You need clearances and access cards. I’m an intern. I can get into the building, but I need an escort just to go to the bathroom.”
“So, it’s like junior high, then? Got it.” He puts on his top hat and a pair of aviator sunglasses because I guess he’s trying to go for a certain effect. “Follow my lead.”
“I can’t do this. This is suicide.”
“Suicide?” For the first time in our friendship, Jeff Harper turns off Styx to make a point. “What do you think they’re gonna do to us? Huh? Kill us? It’s Corporate. They kill us, it’s murder. They can’t arrest us because they’re not the police. The worst they can do is fire us.”
“I think you might be grossly underestimating this situation.”
“What if I am? Who gives a shit? We’re Kilroy and Mr. Roboto. You have a nano in your head. I’ve got a nano in mine. We have weapons that will jack people up, but not really hurt ‘em, ya know? So, they’ll be okay. We go in and start shooting everything we have. No prisoners, baby. We’ll be like the Americans storming the beaches of Norman on Valentine’s Day or some shit.”
“Allies. Normandy. D-Day.” I look at my friend with the wild look in his eyes and shake my head. “You need to know something.”
“What?”
“You don’t have a nano inside you. Randi told me. She gave you a flu shot.”
Jeff leans back against the door and takes off his sunglasses. He sticks an earpiece in his mouth and his expression suggests he is questioning everything he ever knew or believed. I know the feeling.
“I got nothing in me?” His eyes are sad and his mouth turns downward.
“Not according to Randi. She said it was unethical to inject you with it.”
Jeff squints and looks out the window. He wears a look of defeat and disillusionment. The fire in his eyes has faded. I feel bad for telling him, but he needed to know before he did something stupid. He looks ready to give up and I need him now more than ever.
“Maybe now wasn’t the time to bring that up,” I say.
“Probably not.”
“Randi needs us, Jeff. We gotta go help her.”
Adrenaline floods my body and consumes my entire being. The parts of my brain devoted to rational thought turn out the lights and take a nap, while the parts obsessed with more primal functions start a rave. The common sense in me says this is nuts, but I also know we are the only ones who can stop Max and the Araneae.
I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations – one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it. You will regret both.
“Kilroy,” I say.
“What?” my friend asks.
“We own the night.”
Jeff Harper looks at me and I spot an ember of that fiery gaze once again. He slips his sunglasses on and straightens his hat.
“Damn skippy we do,” he growls.
*
We each pack behavioral weapons of all shapes and sizes. Gulliballs, JazzHands Phasers, Neutralizers, Passive Aggressive Agitators, Existential Crisis Inducers.
“What’s our first step?” I ask as I secure my arsenal on my belt. “Create a diversion? What?”
“Follow my lead and set off that Gulliball thing when I tell you to.”
Jeff Harper struts toward the front door of Corporate like a hobo who thinks he’s Clint Eastwood. Why aren’t we using some alternate route? Shouldn’t we be entering through a window or air duct? I tell myself to stop asking questions and just do. I run behind Jeff as we cross the threshold of the sliding glass doors and enter the atrium. Two armed men in security uniforms walk from behind the reception desk and ask us what we’re doing, hands poised on their pistols. It’s Jerry and Dale.
“Excuse me, young man,” says Dale.
“Corporate is closed right now,” says Jerry. “Unless you have an app
ointment, you’ll need to come back tomorrow.”
“Closed?” I ask. I didn’t see this particular development coming. “What do you mean closed? Everyone is here, it looks like.”
“Some kind of lockdown or some such,” says Dale. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Leave your business card and we’ll have someone call you.”
“We’re here to fix a plumbing issue,” Jeff says, as if it were as true as saying that Europe is a continent. “And if we come back tomorrow you’ll be paying double time.”
“I don’t know anything about a plumbing issue,” says Dale. “Do you have a work order or something?”
Jeff looks at me and nods. I pull the Gulliball from my pocket and fire a blast at Jerry.
“Why would he need a work order?” he asks Dale. “Man says they’re here to do a plumbing job, so let them work.”
I fire a quick shot at Dale now and wait for his response.
“Yeah, you’re right. They don’t tell us anything around here. Do you fellas know where you’re going?”
“Sure do,” Jeff says and leads me away from the duo. “Shoot ‘em again. Quick.” I fire right as it looks like Jerry and Dale might be catching on. My shot hits Dale square in the face.
“Scarlett Johansson is in the parking lot,” Jeff calls out. “She wants to talk to you both,” He fires his Existential Crisis Inducer at Jerry. While Dale turns and sprints to the parking lot to meet Scarlett Johansson, Jerry rubs his chin and look toward some far off point.
“Is Scarlett Johansson really here? I mean, are any of us really here?” His pondering allows us enough time to sprint down toward the elevators.
“Hard to believe Corporate would have those two bunglers working security,” I say.
“Did you say bunglers?”
We reach the elevators and walk down the right hallway with urgency. My mouth is void of any moisture, all of it apparently allocated to my sweat glands. I wipe beads of perspiration from my forehead with my arm and tell the butterflies in my stomach to kindly leave. I place the Gulliball back in my pocket and pull the JazzHands 6375 out. I grip it tight in the hopes of calming the tremor in my hand. I really don’t want to be here. I think about the caliente lederhosen-wearing babe from Taco Haus and Waffle Palace and how I’d happily trade places with her right now, even if she were waist deep and naked in raw sewage. Guilt gnaws at me for not thinking of Marlene first. What do I make of that?
My phone buzzes and I see it’s a text from Randi. We duck into an empty conference room and lock the door.
Where r u guys?
My reply: In building. Looking for u.
Randi: Getting backup. Meet in R&D
“I brought a couple of extra toys,” Jeff pulls two small pistols from holsters on his belt and puts one in my hand.
“The Phobia Inducer,” I say with the same certainty I have about my love for my parents and my dread of mayonnaise. “That’s what you shot Clint with that night at the portal.”
“How do we get to R&D from here?” Jeff asks. “Where is it?”
“I dunno. I know I should, but I’m scared shitless right now, so it’s hard to focus. I can’t access the nano.”
Jeff places his hand on my shoulder and speaks to me in an odd voice. He sounds like Sean Connery auditioning for Darth Vader.
“Look deep inside you, Mr. Roboto. The knowledge is within you.”
“I’m not Mr. Roboto.” I close my eyes and visit the vast virtual library in my head. I sprint the aisles looking for any information about Research & Development. The row of subjects starting with ‘R’ is long, but I’m able to find what I’m looking for: a standard white three-ring binder with the words RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT ORIENTATION AND ONBOARDING printed on the cover. A quick flip through the first few pages gives me the info I’m looking for. I quickly exit my brain library and return to the conference room.
“R&D is located on the lowest level of the building. To access we have to follow Rube Goldberg Protocol 47.”
“Why is everything in the basement?” Jeff wonders aloud.
We exit the conference room and walk down the hallway like we belong there, passing a few random Corporate employees along the way. My goal is to avoid direct eye contact. Jeff’s goal appears to be drawing as much of it drawn to us as possible. He waves hello to everyone we pass.
“How’s it going? How ya doing? We’re plumbers.”
“We need to go in there.” I point at a janitor’s closet at the end of the hallway. We quicken our pace and reach the closet. Jeff opens the door. The space is cramped and filled with the sounds of our breathing.
“I assume you know Rube Goldberg Protocol 47?” Jeff asks me.
I nod and reach down to the mop bucket. I pull the handle on the wringer, which causes a small keyboard lock to emerge from the wall. I pause for a moment to retrieve the code from the training curriculum stored in my brain. I enter the digits 8-0-0-8.
“Boob,” Jeff giggles.
“What?”
“The code is boob. Classic.”
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” My heart bangs inside my chest. Its thumps drive through my body and it’s like my skin is bouncing.
“Wrong,” Jeff says flatly. “Breaking up with Marlene is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”
I can’t argue with that.
The janitor closet elevator stops.
“Draw your weapon,” Jeff says.
The doors slide open and no one is there to greet us. No Randi. No Max. No armed security. We walk into a large open room filled only with the sound of a hum emanating from the servers that line all the walls. Laptop computers fill rows of all the tables throughout the middle of the room. A man and woman, both wearing lab coats lie face down on the floor in a lifeless heap. A small incision and a trickle of blood is on the man’s neck.
“Are they dead?” I ask. My stomach lurches a bit. I’ve never seen a dead person other than at a funeral.
“I dunno,” says Jeff, circling the bodies from a safe distance. “Check them. Kick ‘em or something.”
“I’m not going to check them. You check them.”
“Hey,” he calls to them. “Are you guys dead?”
“So much for your dreams of being a medical examiner.” I step toward the bodies with the intention of checking a pulse, but a voice in the room stops me.
“They’re not dead.”
Max Gentry appears from a side room carrying a backpack with the Corporate logo emblazoned on it and pointing a gun at us. The weapon’s black barrel is long and narrow. It looks like a power washer.
“I shot them with this Narcolepsy 5000. They’re in heavy REM sleep right now. They will awake in thirty minutes feeling refreshed. Also, I deployed inside them a strategic, highly-advanced artificial intelligence which will allow them to synergistically interface with an authoritatively end-to-end network of like-minded users.”
“What did he say?” Jeff asks me. “I know it’s not a haiku because I looked that shit up.”
“I think he said we’re screwed.”
“This.” Max holds up the backpack. “This is the future. Inside this are Araneae. They will aid our efforts in transforming our planet into a state-of-the-art resort for high-end, upscale vacationers from across the universe. The Araneae will allow me to assemble a high-performing, impactful security team.”
“Why are you wasting your time telling us your plan?” I ask. “You’re violating a basic rule of villainy.”
“Because you two are about to become members of that elite squad.” He holds the gun out to fire only to have it knocked from his hand by a blast from a stun gun. He drops his weapon and we turn to see Randi Williams standing at the janitor closet elevator and aiming her gun at Max.
“Let’s not do this, Max,” she tells him. “Put down the backpack.”
“I’m going to have to pushback on that,” he says.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Jeff says to Randi.
I seize an opportunity to act while Max is distracted. I jerk the Phobia Inducer from my pants pocket and fire at Max. A yellow bolt hits his chest and spreads out across his whole body. He stands stunned for a couple of seconds. His expression falls into blankness then morphs to abject terror as he trembles all over. Perspiration beads on his face as he looks at the three us.
“Oh, god,” he whispers. “You’re all looking at me. Why are you looking at me?”
“What’s wrong with him?” Randi asks.
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I shot him with the Phobia Inducer.”
“What’s he afraid of?” Jeff asks.
“I dunno.”
Max swallows hard. “I hate being in situations like this. We’re just standing around having to make small talk. I hate small talk. It’s like you’re judging me for every word I say.”
“Aw, man,” I sigh. “I gave him social anxiety disorder. I feel bad now.”
“I’m judging you because of that backpack,” Jeff says. “You look ridiculous.”
“Oh, my god.” Max starts shaking and gasping. “What do I do? What do I do?”
“Set it down gently,” Randi advises, “and slowly back away.”
The average effect from a behavioral weapon lasts anywhere from thirty seconds to several minutes based on the intelligence of the victim. It taps into that part of our psyche which is susceptible to suggestion. The greater the lack of intellect in the victim, the longer the effects. Max always struck me as smart and learned. We must act with urgency if this is going to work.
Max sets the backpack down as instructed and holds his hands out. He steps backward twice and his face morphs from that of a teenage boy whose parents walked in on him smoking pot to the Max Gentry who seconds ago nearly shot us with a sleep gun. A flash of recognition in Max’s eyes tells us the Phobia Inducer has worn off and the jig is up. He lunges toward the backpack only to be greeted with several shots from Jeff’s Passive Aggressive Agitator. He backs away with each blast, allowing me time to rush over and pick up the bag. I toss it to Randi and she catches it.
“Go! Go!” she barks.
“Oh, okay,” Max calls out to us. “Well, I was going to use that backpack for my plan, but if you guys need it more, that’s cool. No, really, take it. I’ll find another backpack. There are so many backpacks. It won’t quite be as cool as that one because it has the Corporate logo on it, but as long as you guys have what you need then it’s all good. Don’t worry about me.”