Between Two Minds: Revelation

by D C Wright-Hammer

  The autocar was taking them to a side of town that Ernesto hadn’t been to in years. They passed an abandoned prison.

  Garfield motioned to the building. “I’ve always had a fondness for that place. Maybe I’ll buy it next year.”

  “Sounds like a waste of money.”

  The comment ended any hope for a conversation, and they drove the rest of the way in silence. The autocar came to a gravel road leading to a farm house, and it drove with a cloud of dust fluttering behind it. They turned down a dirt path, and a great, rickety barn loomed 100 meters directly ahead. The autocar actually sped up.

  “What the hell?” Ernesto leaned back. “Your car is going to get us killed!”

  They were quickly closing in on the wooden structure, and Ernesto was ready to open the door and dive out when he saw Garfield from the corner of his eye. Garfield was silently laughing to himself.

  Ernesto knew full well that Garfield didn’t have a death-wish, so he took a deep breath and exhaled hard, then even cracked a joke. “Well, if we’re going out, at least it’s together.”

  They were meters from the wooden structure when the ground below them instantly morphed into a downward ramp, taking them into a long, dark tunnel underground. The autocar didn’t slow down as its headlights clicked on.

  Ernesto sighed. He couldn’t deny it was a nice touch. If he had the time, money, and power, he would want something like it. After another couple of minutes, the car emerged from the dim tunnel into a brightly lit open space. Ernesto thought it looked somewhat like a subway station. The autocar slowed to a stop.

  “Do I know this place?” Ernesto wondered out loud just as a large, familiar logo on the stone wall—a ghost with a red circle around it and a line through it—came into view.

  Garfield nodded. “This is the PMU National Headquarters.”

  It was immediately obvious to Ernesto why Garfield had chosen a group known to hate mind migrators as his crew. Before Ernesto could gather his thoughts to say something, Garfield got out of the car.

  “Come on.”

  Ernesto caught up to him. “I’m guessing they know we’re…”

  Garfield scoffed. “They know what they need to know.”

  They walked up a few steps to a path leading into the facility and went through an open door into a dark hallway.

  A woman with a tall, bright-blue Mohawk and a black leather jacket had appeared and said, “He’s ready for you. This way.” She led.

  As they walked the dim corridor, lights intermittently popped on overhead. At the end, they came to a heavy steel door.

  Thud. Thud. Thud. The woman pounded on the door.

  With a crack, a pop, and a squeal, the door slowly opened to a normally lit hallway. They passed a large, padded room where members were sparring hand-to-hand. They seemed to be above average fighters, but Ernesto was certain they’d need to be really good to take on the shifters.

  They continued walking, and odd posters could be seen on the walls. Each one had Frank Simon with an eight-pointed star on his forehead. Each one had a different line below.

  Every mind migration is a crime against humanity.

  Mind spooks control the world, but they cannot control a pure mind.

  The only good mind spook is a dead mind spook.

  When he ran organs, Ernesto had heard all about Simon. Normally, he wouldn’t have judged another man’s hustle, but the things he heard about Simon put him in his own category. Before mind migrations, Simon ran the Human Purity Project—a brutal cult disguised as a legitimate organization. Publicly, they championed the fight against diseases of all kinds. “Healthy people make a healthy world,” was one of their slogans. They even received funding from some reputable sources.

  Privately, they had professed the need for the genocide of anyone considered “infected.” This label wasn’t limited to those with communicable diseases. Cancer. Autism. Autoimmune disorders. Addiction. They all needed to be “thinned from the herd,” as Simon had put it behind closed doors, “to keep the human race strong and pure.” They had developed a significant following in those days with the world-wide outbreak of Spotted-Lung.

  With the cure and vaccine, Spotted-Lung had been essentially eradicated. Public interest for the Human Purity Project seemed to go with it in addition to Simon’s ability to manipulate large groups of people. It didn’t help that Simon was rumored to be a cannibal, sometimes eating the flesh of the infected he allegedly killed.

  Then mind migrations fell into his lap. With the controversy surrounding the very first migration, Simon suddenly had a new calling for a different type of purity. Rumors be damned, he had no trouble mobilizing his previous base as well as a significant portion of the recently frenzied general population. He formed Pure Minds United to consolidate the masses he’d won over, and PMU quickly became the group of choice for disgruntled people, especially from the upper and middle classes.

  Ernesto had seen through it all. He knew mind migrations were a direct threat to Simon’s ideology. If infected people could just migrate into healthy bodies, there’d be no one for Simon to victimize, and no need for a Human Purity Project. Ernesto couldn’t deny it had been clever of Simon to rally against the procedure. But Ernesto nonetheless held a deep-hearted disdain for him. Mind migrations had served Ernesto well.

  Chatter came from ahead, and the woman continued to guide them. “This way. Watch your step.”

  They took a single step into a large room with dark wooden floors. A bright holo was playing one of PMU’s recruiting videos, professing that ADG was the bane of humanity. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Ernesto, and it was undeniable proof that Garfield really did keep his enemies close.

  On the other side of the room, they came to another metal door with a speaker next to it.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  “He’ll be with you in a moment.” The woman wandered back the way they came.

  The door popped open and the speaker screeched, “Come in.”

  They walked into a pitch-black room.

  Click. Click.

  From above, two spotlights shone on two chairs. It made the rest of the room seem that much darker.

  “Please. Sit,” Simon commanded with a scratchy voice from the shadows.

  Ernesto and Garfield obliged. Garfield opened the discussion. “This is Hank, the new combat commander. Have you selected the members who will join him on his missions?”

  Simon inhaled deeply. “Yes. I have a group of six who have been working the streets. They’re the ones who stumbled onto the boy the other week.”

  Garfield sighed. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  He grumbled a positive affirmation back.

  “Fine. Send them to our remote facility tonight. They’ll begin prepping tomorrow morning.”

  Another garbled confirmation.

  Garfield continued, “Onto other business. The factory is running on minimum staff again. You know that’s unacceptable. Fix it today.”

  Simon cleared his throat. “Of course. Speaking of other business. Is the weapon on schedule?”

  “It will be ready when it’s needed.” Garfield stood up. “Now, we won’t talk again until after we have Mr. Carter. At that point, we’ll look to bring you in.”

  Simon let loose a crackly snicker.

  Ernesto stood up, and the two men left the PMU headquarters.

  “What kind of a bullshit is this?” Ernesto whispered to himself as he walked into the training room to find the help provided by the PMU. Part of him wondered if it was just another joke that Garfield was playing on him. Ernesto pictured Garfield laughing his ass off in his office, loading him up with bird-chested bigots. He shook the thought from his head because it didn’t matter. Ernesto was only biding his time to deal with Charlie and get free from Garfield.

  Standing on the blue m
at, five men and a woman were in black, skin-tight workout gear. None of them weighed more than seventy-five kilograms. They all had a look on their face like they were tough shit. Ernesto had seen this type plenty of times before. He knew exactly how to approach them.

  “Who’s the weakest one in here?” he shouted.

  The question instantly took the focus off him and put them at odds with each other. They all turned toward one another, and after a couple moments, two of the men took a step forward.

  “You two. Come over here.”

  The men scurried over.

  Ernesto turned his back, and the men came around. He whispered to them. They took turns nodding, and then one of the men walked back to the group.

  “Okay,” said Ernesto turning his head. “Who’s the strongest?”

  Without hesitation, Terry, the only woman, started walking over.

  “Get your ass back there. I didn’t tell you to move.”

  She scoffed but followed orders.

  Ernesto turned back to the man, in confidence. “If your life depended on taking her down, what would you do?”

  The man gave a wide-eyed shrug. “I have no idea.”

  “Think,” Ernesto insisted. “I’m guessing you’ve seen her fight a bunch of times. What’s her weakness?”

  Puzzled, the man shook his head slowly. “I guess she’s…over confident.”

  “Great. We can use that. Now, is there anything you’re good at?”

  The man smiled. “I’ve been told I have a mean right hook. Just have trouble landing it sometimes.” He frowned. “Most times.”

  They continued talking quietly as the group got anxious.

  “I knew this job was bullshit,” Terry muttered to her crew. “I thought we’d get right into cracking some impure skulls. They got us kidnapping some old ass lady, so we can capture some other mind spook.” She nodded toward Ernesto with his back turned. “And look at this hulky son of a bitch. I don’t want to be around when he finally ’roid rages and his dick falls off.”

  The men let loose a muffled chuckle, trying desperately to keep their mouths shut.

  Ernesto spun around. “Okay, smartass. You’ll be fighting Brent on the matt. Everyone else, step aside.”

  The two combatants squared up.

  Ernesto leaned over to the other men. “Feel free to cheer them on.”

  And so, they did, transforming the training room into the lamest fight club in history. Ernesto didn’t mind. He had to turn these mindist punks into legitimate fighters.

  Terry went to her usual routine of taunting her opponent. “Let’s show ’em why they call you five-second Brent.”

  Brent had his hands up, ready for her. He didn’t say a word.

  “Remember last time we fought, Brenty? Remember what I did to ya for mouthin’ off?”

  She threw a left jab. He dodged it, and she recoiled quickly.

  “What about that time you came crawlin’ into my bed? Threw your ass out in a second.”

  Brent spotted the wind up for her famous right cross. She lunged forward and extended her right arm, and Brent parried downward and popped up with the right hook he’d bragged about, connecting perfectly with her jaw.

  Terry dropped to the mat, clearly stunned.

  The crowd gasped.

  Ernesto stepped over to her and bent down. “Your attitude could be a strength. Instead, it’s going to get someone killed. Probably you. I hope that’s it.”

  She rolled over and spit in his face.

  He didn’t flinch. After a moment, he took his sleeve to it.

  “You like watchin’ us beat each other up?” Terry was still defiant. “Is that what gets you off?”

  Ernesto knew his next line had to be thoughtful or he might never make a dent in her ego. “I think you’re a big fish in a small pond. If you listen to me, I’ll have you kicking the asses of men bigger than me.”

  She conceded the tiniest grin and nodded. “Yeah? I’ll be able to kick your ass?”

  He smiled back. “I said bigger than me. Not faster. Not stronger. And that’s only if you listen. Keep mouthing off, and you can keep being a salty bully to tweeners on the street.”

  Ernesto turned toward the exit. He pointed toward a holo near the door. “There’s your workout for the day. Do it three times and then hit the showers.”

  Terry was still stunned, but more so from Ernesto’s comment than Brent’s right hook. She had been so used to getting her way, or bitching until she did. But she always knew she had been compensating for living in a male-dominated world where mind spooks lurked around every corner.

  But Hank was different. His first attempt at challenging her wasn’t degrading nor was it shady. He exploited her weakness, not her as a person. But it was what he did after that made it different. He offered to help her overcome it. She feared he’d eventually want to sleep with her in return, but it was something she’d constantly dealt with. She decided she would burn that bridge when she came to it. If she came to it.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry for punching you,” Brent couldn’t have been any more timid if he tried. “It was all the big guy’s idea.”

  She almost didn’t hear him because she was so deep in thought. She finally processed his words as she rubbed her jaw. “Don’t worry about it, Brent.” She stood up. “We’ve got some work to do.”

  The team descended on the quiet, dark suburb at exactly 2:45 AM.

  In a short time, they’d come a long way from the band of punks they once were. Turning average people into extraordinary individuals was something Ernesto had done in his previous life. His nostalgia was the highest it had been since being revived, and he longed for independence. He again reminded himself that it was all in due time.

  They took a side street close to the home and weaved in and out of front yards to avoid the street lights. A strange notion took hold of Ernesto as they tightly hugged the neighboring buildings. He was concerned that they would set off the neighborhood dogs, and it would give away their position. But dogs were outlawed for years. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused back on the mission at hand.

  Rounding a corner, the house with the big wooden ramp came into view, and they roved in the shadows to elude detection. They all silently arrived at the front door, pressing their bodies against the siding.

  Ernesto opened the screen door and gave a nod to Terry. She stepped back, turned to the home, and readied herself.

  Another nod from Ernesto.

  Crack!

  She’d kicked in the door, and the men poured in.

  Ernesto stood watch at the door, his mind wandering to the next mission. We’re coming for you, Charlie.

  Chapter 21:

  A Shift in Perspective

  “We’re coming for you, Charlie!” Ryan’s words echoed into the void as he and Alabaster searched the depths of their shared brain for any signs of Charlie.

  Regardless of their common goal, Ryan was more than skeptical of Alabaster. Many of the things Alabaster had made Charlie do were exceptionally vicious. Only a few seemed necessary for survival. He also knew that Alabaster was aware of the doubtful thoughts in his mind, but didn’t want him to know any more than he already did. So, he tried like hell to keep those feelings out of his mind. It wasn’t easy. It was like someone saying, “Don’t think about a pink elephant,” and inevitably, one thinks about the pinkest elephant imaginable. The whole concept went against the way the human mind worked, making it nearly impossible to resist visualizing communications as they were consumed. However, this was where an odd, old habit of Ryan’s came in handy.

  When he had been with Auto, he did quite a bit of reading. After a while, he became bored of reading so many books that, one day, it dawned on him to read novels on his terms the first time around. He created a custom setting on his holo-reader to gray-out all adjectives.
He thought it would help him better determine if the author was worth his or her salt. It really cut out the fluff as well as the drawn-out paragraphs with excessive descriptors, even though some people thought of those as the best parts. He was able to get through books much more quickly by just grasping the gist, and re-reads were much more interesting, seeing how the author had intended the book to be read. It also produced some hilarious moments when modifiers were part of the title and relatively crucial to the story, like the classics The Scarlet Letter and Great Expectations. Even more comical, the practice actually paid off when he landed the job as a data processor. Part of the interview was a hands-on portion where he was required to process one-hundred lines of data in one minute. He processed three-hundred-and-six. Needless to say, he was a shoe-in.

  Reflecting on his past really did help him force his distrust of Alabaster to the back of his mind. But more than anything, it was trying to intercept Charlie’s mind that kept Ryan focused.

  “Charlie!” He yelled into the abyss.

  On top of Alabaster reading Ryan’s thoughts, he had been silently floating behind Ryan like a white shadow. It was starting to bother Ryan.

  “Can you just go away, like before?”

  “No,” Alabaster bellowed. “Now that I’ve revealed myself to you without obfuscation, I’ll be omnipresent moving forward.”

  “So, you’ll be around when we find Charlie. How do you think he’ll handle it? Meeting you?”

  “Based on our history, he’ll be resistant. I believe you’ll be able to persuade him to trust me.”

  Ryan paused for a moment. “And you already know how I’m going to do that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, you’re going to—” Alabaster stopped talking suddenly.