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Amelix Retreat

A subsidiary of Amelix Integrations

 

Involuntary Reconditioning Feedback Form:

Seeker of Understanding

INVOLUNTARY, GRADE THREE

 

Subject: Eric Basali, #117B882QQ

(.*?)

 

Dear Eric Basali #117B882QQ,

Congratulations on your upgrade to Seeker of Understanding, Involuntary, Grade Three.

As before, incomplete, evasive, or non-participatory answers will be rejected.

1. Please describe any recent thoughts and feelings that pertain to your ongoing experience at Amelix Retreat and to your relationship with the company.

I’m told I have been here for a few months, now. Although I’m proud to be a Grade Three, I am ashamed that I am still not fit to serve the company in the general work force.

I have come to value my group so much. It started with the realization that without them I would have been killed in the first ten minutes of every combat simulation. Doubting them and questioning whether they were even “real” was just my way of resisting the cohesion that separates us from the Zone’s wretched waste.

Today in combat I was taken prisoner and tortured with a straight razor, leaving me crisscrossed with gaping, bloody wounds. Sometimes the cuts were so deep I felt the metal scrape across bone. I knew they were trying to draw the team for an ambush but I didn’t scream. I took it, silently, until I blacked out, and not a single member of my group was sacrificed for me.

For so many years, I held a grudge against my parents, Amelix, and God. I felt abandoned and unloved when my father died and my mother was reconditioned, but actually my parents, Amelix, and God were doing what was best for me throughout my life, guiding me to Amelix. Now I see that God works through my superiors as He once worked through parents. By resenting authority and control, I failed to realize I was rejecting God’s love.

Today when I was granted authority and control over captured Heaves, I realized that power was divinely ordained. I obey my superiors completely and control my subordinates completely, and in this way the Lord’s work is done.

Underground:

Eadie lay on a crumbling foam mattress in her “room,” a short section of tunnel that went nowhere, reading her notebook aloud by lamplight. Rosa massaged Eadie’s shoulders and listened, though Eadie knew many of the words were beyond her English vocabulary. A drain above let in a shaft of brilliant sunlight, which flashed bright and dim as pedestrians passed by.

“Our species evolved over a million years or more—maybe hundreds of millions, depending on what you choose as the starting point. We became smarter, teaching ourselves language and the use of tools. We mastered everything, from hunting and farming to building houses and teaching our children.

“But then we hijacked evolution, forcing people to be defined only by their contribution to an organization rather than their individual niche in the world as a whole. We became specialized in ridiculously small areas of expertise, like corporate regulations and computer languages, and the more specialized the work, the higher those people doing it are valued. Now the people best able to survive in our world are those who are so specialized they can barely function outside the narrow scope of their job descriptions.

“Without our companies, we no longer have the ability to feed or clothe ourselves. We are so dependent on our organizations that they have become the source of life itself. But nature intended for us to exist as independent organisms, so those same entities that keep us alive also smother us—”

“You summoned me, General?”

Eadie looked up. The Prophet stood in the wider tunnel that ran perpendicular to hers and served as her hallway. Even now, his mere presence gave her an odd, cold feeling, and his glowing circle reminded her that she was now marked in a similar way. Everyone in her group had been given a permanent, luminous, living fungal tattoo on his or her forehead to show they were outside and superior to the Subject hierarchy. Eadie’s was a triangle like most of her group, but hers alone was filled in to show she was in a position of leadership.

She laughed. “My summons means something to you?”

“Here in the Underground Kingdom you are royalty, General. You are outranked only by King James himself.”

“Thanks to you and the mythology you made up before I even got here. You convinced everyone in this place that you and I both deserve this strange, religious reverence. The Prophet and the General. The story works for both of us, so I’m grateful for that.”

She gestured to a spot in front of her on the floor, raising herself to a sitting position. The Prophet emerged from the shadows and sat down, ignoring Rosa’s suspicious stare. He had told Rosa that Eadie’s quest would end abuse like little Mari had suffered, and Rosa sincerely believed. After the girl died, Rosa became Eadie’s strongest supporter and constant companion, and she seemed to have appointed herself to the duty of personal bodyguard. The Prophet got more leeway than most, but Rosa clearly did not judge him to be entirely worthy of her trust.

“It is all to the Subjects’ own benefit, General, I assure you,” the Prophet said. “Only reverence and obedience will solve their problems. All Subjects gladly obey you. Even I do.”

“But yet you completely ignored me when I tried to get you to stop drinking so much.”

The Prophet shrugged. “Power flows along certain channels, General. You can dig up rocks, break them into tiny bits, even form those bits into concrete. But you cannot order them to stop being rocks.”

She cocked her head, amused. “I could break them down into their component chemicals.”

“But they would cease to exist as rocks altogether. Is this why you summoned me? To break me down?”

“No.” With a hand on Rosa’s shoulder she lowered her voice and said, “Leave us for a little bit, querida. Check the tunnels close by and make sure no one is there.” Rosa placed her hand over Eadie’s and nodded. “Sí, general.”

Rosa passed the Prophet with narrowed eyes and disappeared into the gloom. Eadie picked up Kel’s pipe, already loaded with paper and nicotine the Subjects of the Underground Kingdom had provided her. She flicked Kel’s lighter and took a drag.

“You know,” Eadie began, “When I first got here, I thought the Subjects’ religion was kind of ridiculous. The Great Mother Earth, carrying all the Subjects in her belly, providing the faithful with what they need.”

“But that religion is what gives them hope, General,” said the Prophet. “It ensures harmony—they share equally because they believe the Great Mother wants them to do so. And the religion is the reason they have such faith in you.”

“I know. And I feel it now—my place here, my duty.” She laughed. “It’s crazy, but I really am the leader they need. I am their gift from the Great Mother.”

She placed the notebook in the Prophet’s hands. “You’ve explained to me what they believe, and I’ve come to believe it, too. But it goes beyond the Subjects, Prophet. I’ve not been led here simply to solve their problems. I’m meant to fix the whole world.” She let go of the notebook and the Prophet raised it with both hands, turning so that its cover was illuminated in the light from the drain.

“I want you to read this, Prophet,” she said. “Use it to teach the Subjects. Help them understand that our purpose is holy—not just for us, but for everyone.”

The Prophet bowed deeply. “I am happy you have come to know this, General. Thank you for lending me this book, which you say is so close to your heart.”

She took another drag and set the pipe down, picking up one of the two Federal weapons Ernesto insisted he had fixed perfectly. His unique talents had been immediately acknowledged and appreciated by the Subjects, and they had enlisted his help to develop new kinds of traps to protect the Underground Kingdom from outsiders. Eadie had instructed the entire population to provide him with whatever he needed to perform his tasks.

“I also need for you to set up training exercises so I can work with them, Prophet. To teach them what I’ll be expecting.”

The Prophet stared at the book in his hands. “Their specific knowledge will not be directly relevant to your purposes, General. Only their obedience is needed, and for that, there is training by others.” The Prophet grinned slightly. Eadie shivered. “Your job begins when the teaching is done, General.”

“How can their knowledge be unimportant?”

“The acquisition of knowledge is not the purpose of their training,” the Prophet said. “It is merely a tool for teaching them their most important skill: the ability to follow orders without hesitation. The Subjects are physically weak, and they are flawed in other ways as well, but there is no army on Earth with this level of obedience, General.”

“I want to be involved with their training, Prophet,” she said. “Set it up.”

“As you wish, General.” He stood. “Will that be all?”

“Is there a way to bulk some of the Subjects up, make them physically stronger for fighting?

“Nutritional rations could be enriched for some, General, but it would require others of them to sacrifice, which would almost certainly kill them. However, all rations have birth control elements which tend to make everyone more supple and feminine. If those were removed from rations I believe you will see an elevation of strength but you must be prepared to act quickly. Pregnancies would throw off caloric balance and I cannot predict the consequences.”

Old Fart’s quarters, underground:

“How is your meal, Old Fart?”

Old Fart smiled weakly at King James, the ancient-looking leader of the Subjects, who stood in the entry to his small chamber. “It’s … it’s very nice, thank you. Please come in.”

“After so long with us, you’ve still not grown accustomed to our food,” James said. He entered and eased himself carefully to the floor, leaning against the curving wall. “I’m sure it’s quite different from what you were used to up above.”

The young Subject woman who had brought his meal kissed Old Fart’s hand and backed toward the door. One stripe on her forehead meant she was still of the lowest rank, that of pupil. He smiled kindly at her, then watched wistfully as she disappeared into the hallway; the Underground Kingdom was an absolute hierarchy and the Subjects always offered themselves to superiors whenever they performed routine services.

Old Fart used a finger to stir the lukewarm black soup in his polished stone bowl, releasing an aroma of concentrated mildew. “Yes, it’s certainly different, but I know that you folks are giving me more than the standard ration down here and I truly thank you for that. I’m sorry if I don’t seem appreciative.”

“I wish it could be more to your liking. But this soup is made with more than twenty kinds of fungi and it has quite a lot of vitamins and minerals … even a special compound that helps greatly for seeing in the dark. The Prophet himself hybridized them all for us when he lived here before. Without him we never would have been able to create this kingdom.”

“The Prophet? Really?”

“Yes. Food, medicine, the glowing material that we use in lamps and tattoos and for marking tunnels—all fungi, all from the Prophet. The man is truly a gift of the Great Mother.” He gestured at the antique 7-Up bottle serving as Old Fart’s lamp. “Oil, as well. That’s a secretion from one of the Prophet’s strains.” Old Fart glanced at the bottle, its flame giving off a faintly sour-smelling smoke. King James turned his head, looking out the entrance of the tunnel where they sat. His stringy white hair was plastered to his head and shoulders.

“What feeds the fungi?” Old Fart asked.

“We do, Old Fart. Every Subject has a time to feed the fungi.” King James said. “But today, I am here to bring another dispute to your attention. You’ve been such a wonderful arbitrator for us lately, and this one is really of terrible importance, especially with all that’s happening …”

“Of course. I rather enjoy being the judge around here. It gives me something useful to do, and since I have little in common with anyone here, they believe I’m impartial—and wise, too, strangely enough. It must be my age. Come to think of it … Is there anyone here as old as I am, besides Dok?”

King James shook his head. “Except for you, and you are more than ten years my senior, I’m the eldest here by a rather wide margin. But to the point, this case must be decided immediately. It concerns the weapons.”

“Weapons? You mean all those ropes and pulleys and rocks that you smash intruders with?”

“No. It is a collection of objects—everything that has been picked up from the various types who have tried to infiltrate us … that is, everything that may have survived being smashed.” He turned. “Enter, Subjects!”

Two tiny beings shuffled into the room, pasty white flesh enveloping spindly bones beneath the dark rags they all wore. Their eyes, like those of all the Subjects, were wide and round—rather owl-like—but they squinted in the dim lamplight as they approached. It took Old Fart several seconds to conclude that the pair was comprised of one male and one female. One held a wooden stick that might have been a chair rung and a knife crudely cut from a sheet of thin metal. The other had something that looked like a bent fence post. Old Fart sighed. The pair gave him the hesitating half bow all Subjects did, and Old Fart made a sincere attempt at returning it.

“Well, Subjects,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

The Subjects watched each other as they each opened their mouths and tried to say something. This was a common problem: Their etiquette was so stifling that nobody knew how to begin speaking. “You,” Old Fart said, pointing to the one with the stick and knife. “Please explain your situation.”

“I speak for the Explorers, Old Fart, sir.” The voice was so soft that Old Fart had to lean forward to hear it, even in the tiny tunnel. This was the one Old Fart suspected might be female. “We go around to the far reaches of our Kingdom, checking traps and collecting what has been reclaimed for us by the Great Mother. Now General Eadie has come, and the Prophet says the weapons we have found must somehow be distributed. We believe the Great Mother gave them to the Explorers and that She chose us to distribute them.”

Old Fart gestured at the other one. “And you say what?”

“We are the Keepers, Old Fart, sir.” The voice might even have been softer than the first. “We are charged with storing all the Kingdom’s valuables. We have kept the weapons for the Kingdom, and we believe we are charged with distributing them as part of our duty to care for all that is kept.”

Old Fart nodded. “The Keepers stay with the items they keep, and the Explorers travel around the entire Kingdom, is that right?” he asked. Both Subjects nodded. “So you can both be involved in distribution. The Keepers will provide the weapons to the Explorers, who will deliver them where they need to go. The more important issue, though, is that of allocation. Someone needs to figure out who should get what. Which group will be better at matching weapons with those who will use them?”

The Subjects looked at each other and then at King James. Nobody spoke.

“Let me ask you this,” Old Fart said. “Who would be better suited to using the weapons above ground? Is there a group like that?”

The Subjects and King James stared silently, blinking. “Above ground?” King James asked finally, his voice shaking.

Old Fart raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what Eadie is supposed to do for you folks,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure her plans will involve at least some of you going up there.” He pointed up at the tunnel’s curved roof but their eyes did not follow.

Old Fart sighed. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “For now you’ll put everything back in storage. Start asking around in your groups, and in other groups, too. Find Subjects who might be willing to go above ground. I’ll talk to Eadie about the weapons and her intentions. King James, can you assist them in seeking out volunteers?”

King James nodded feebly.

The metalsmith’s workshop, New Union territory:

A barely audible footstep drew Sato’s attention toward the door. Spiral stood in the hall, bowing as Sato had taught him. Sato nodded and turned back to face the metalsmith, an old man with a permanent squint, his wrinkled forehead caked with grease and soot.

“I’m surprised to find you here, Frontman Samurai,” Spiral said. “I thought your sword was already finished.”

Sato kept his eyes fixed on the blade, held over the fire on two cinder blocks. Suspended above it were two cans, one with oil and one with water. Wires extended downward from each, ending just above the part of the blade being worked. Drops of oil and water dripped from the wires onto the hot part of the blade where they reacted and flared. The metalsmith pulled the blade toward him, pounding with precise strokes.

“There was a spot that was slightly thicker than the rest,” Sato told him. “One could not detect it by sight, but I could feel it when I wiped the blade.”

Spiral lowered his voice. “How did you convince him to do all this for you? I heard he never did favors for anyone. Elements say Top Dog has him working day and night on the imparters.

Sato answered just as quietly. “I gave him my share of the spoils from our work.”

“Must’ve been a lot, Frontman.”

“All I had.”

Spiral gaped. “All?”

Sato nodded as the red steel cooled to a dull dark gray. He saw Spiral’s disconcertingly wide eyes flick to the topknot Sato had grown and oiled. Brian had apparently not objected, since he had made no attempt to interfere. “It was worth everything. This man is not a sword maker by trade but he has taken direction well. He even worked the back of the blade less than the edge so that it would flex more but the blade would still hone razor sharp.”

The metalsmith handed Sato the sword, which was still radiating heat. Sato nodded at him. He showed the grip to Spiral, who reverently touched it with the tips of two fingers. “Bone handles, wrapped in string I dipped in the rubber we use to resole shoes when the rain’s acid eats them away,” Sato said. “The bone is bolted through the blade, around a core which is made of rubberized string, as well. The string wraps around the outside in this diamond pattern, leaving the bone exposed between the wrappings so that the diamonds are deep enough to grip fingers when in battle.”

“And what’s this guard at the top of the handle, Frontman Samurai?”

“I am told this was once a beverage container: an aluminum can. I pounded it flat over a long period of time so that now there are multiple layers, but all are thin and lightweight.”

“It’s a beautiful weapon, sir.”

“Now that my hands feel better I am looking forward to testing it in battle.”

“You’ll still carry a gun, of course, sir.”

“Yes.” Sato winced. “One that was captured from the despicable merchant army in my first raid.” He gripped the sword tighter. “Those parasites armed with their honorless blasting weapons are an intolerable plague in this world.”

Sato left the room, sword in hand, with Spiral tagging along behind him through the winding halls. “No battles of any kind for a few days now, sir. I hope you’ll get to use it soon. Don’t know about you, but I’m climbing the fuckin’ walls waiting to taste the Juice again, sir.”

Spiral’s words reminded the samurai of his brief encounter with the Life Force itself. He suppressed a shudder. Juice certainly had its appeal, but nothing could compare to the Life Force in its pure, natural and irresistible form. His desire for reunion with it intensified daily; it was the singular purpose behind his every action. Juice was powerful, but dark and slippery, caustic and cruel. The Life Force was beyond description, beyond love, beyond power. As the source of all life, its essence was greater, its magic more awe-inspiring, than the mere trace of it each man carried inside him; in the parlance of this place, it was beyond even the soul. This mission was dragging on too long! Sato swallowed and examined his sword blade, which was still too hot to put away.

“I mean, sodje only goes so far, sir,” Spiral said. “Sometimes I wake up feeling like part of my insides have been removed, and then I realize it’s only the Juice I’m missing.”

“What is it that you want, Spiral? You know I cannot authorize Juice for you until battle.” They had reached the doorway of Sato’s room. He slipped off his shoes and stared at Spiral until he slipped off his own.

“Of course, Frontman. I’m here to ask about my position within the Front. I have served well for you and this Front, sir. I was hoping you might consider me for a promotion.”

Sato nodded. “You are the best Rounder I have at my command. You want to officially be my second.”

Spiral copied Sato’s nod, dipping his head a little deeper to demonstrate his deference and respect.

“If Coiner and Top Dog agree, you shall be second, Spiral.” Sato’s head snapped toward a tiny movement at the edge of his vision. It was a small roach crawling from the very bottom left corner of the wall. Sato watched as the roach changed its course, angling sharply and increasingly upward and gaining speed. As the roach began a straight vertical climb toward the ceiling, Sato spun around, striking with the tip of his sword. The insect and part of the wall behind it disintegrated, settling to the floor as dust.

Amelix Retreat

A subsidiary of Amelix Integrations

 

Involuntary Reconditioning Feedback Form:

Seeker of Understanding

INVOLUNTARY, GRADE FOUR

 

Subject: Eric Basali, #117B882QQ

(.*?)

 

Dear Eric Basali #117B882QQ,

Congratulations on your upgrade to Seeker of Understanding, Involuntary, Grade Four. This change in status will initiate an automatic review of your case file to assess your eligibility for advancement to the order of Amelix Accepted.

1. Please describe any significant events or interactions you experienced today. Include an account of your personal reaction to each.

I physically left my room for the first time today. Andrew removed my privacy-protecting face cover, which made me feel naked after being shielded from view for so long. He walked me down the hall to the familiar conference room I’d seen in holograms but had never actually visited. A rifle and field kit, just like the ones I’d used in holograms, sat on a table.

Never before had Andrew spoken more than a few words to me at a time. Today he talked a lot. It made me feel I’d earned the right to be addressed.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve survived the training. Now you must decide how you’ll fight in the war.”

He nodded. “You were used to thinking about war in barbaric terms, so we trained you that way.” he said, guiding me to a chair. He sat next to me, which seemed to indicate that we could now interact as near equals.

“It was hard for you to relate blood and gore and violence to Amelix’s work, because our war is quiet and civilized,” he said. “War itself has evolved, but it’s still about resources, just like always.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand,” I said.

He pointed at the steel door that had served as the gateway to battle in every combat hologram. “This is the real door, and beyond it is the real Zone. On the other side are all the lower life forms, fighting to survive. Fighting for resources. Fighting alone. I think you know how long you’ll last if you choose to leave Amelix. You knew it before you came here; that’s why you tried to kill yourself.

“Our war is quieter, Eric, but it’s still about life and death. Amelix isn’t just your employer. We’re your army. You will either choose to rejoin us as a fully Accepted member of our corporation, or you will fight alone. “

To hear my name spoken again after so long felt strange and surreal. It should have drawn my attention back to Andrew, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the door. “I’m leaving this room, now, Eric. Both that door and the one through which I’ll return to Amelix will remain unlocked. One of these doors opens onto your future. You must decide which it is and pass through. Your choice will be irrevocable.”

Then he left. I watched the door close behind him and I sat, stunned. The steel door unlocked itself with its familiar echoing metallic thunk. Afraid of whatever feelings I might dredge up and what pathway amplification might do with them, I found myself unable to think, looking from one door to the other.

Then one idea emerged on the edge of my consciousness, first like a tiny, high-pitched buzz in one ear, and then growing until it screamed. The door to the Zone was open! That meant whatever was outside could come in!

I jumped up and ran, following Andrew back into the company.

Underground:

“Listen, Eadie, I’m not sure this is necessary …” Lawrence said. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we get on with what we were doing?” About fifty Subjects were assembled in a wide, flat room that still had some old water pumping equipment in one corner. They stood meekly in three lines, their faces pointed toward the floor. Their trainers stood before them, nervously watching as Eadie grabbed the lead trainer by the chin.

“Tell me, Doorin,” Eadie said. “How do you discipline these soldiers?”

“General …” the man said haltingly. “We do what we always do. We ignore the offender and refuse any social contact until he or she repents before the group. This is our way, General …”

“Your way is fine if you never intend to do anything but scurry around down here like mice, but it’s a pathetic method for training fighters.” She gestured to a diminutive Subject cowering in the front line. “This man fucked up and blew the whole training exercise. You know what that’s going to get us when the Great Mother sends us up there?” She pointed up. Their heads stayed down. “Pain. Maybe a hell of a lot more than that, but pain for sure. Please do not train my holy army to be weak and pathetic.”

Doorin hunched his shoulders until his chest was almost parallel with the floor. “Yes, General,” he whispered.

She grabbed him by the rags that served as his shirt. “I don’t need you to be humble and submissive. I need you to grow a spine! I need results!” She slapped him across the face. “This is discipline! This!” She slapped him again then spun him around, taking a fistful of the clothes behind him and pushing him forward. “You try.”

Doorin slapped his student listlessly. Eadie struck the back of his head with her palm. “Try again.”

She commanded Doorin to hit the man several more times before she released him and stepped back, raising her voice until it sounded through the chambers adjoining the big room. “We’re training you Subjects to fight for your rightful share of the Great Mother’s bounty. There’s a whole system up there, ready to crush you. Most of you ended up here after it nearly crushed you before. I have spoken with the Prophet and it is agreed: The solution to the Underground Kingdom’s situation is discipline. We will not tolerate anything else.”

Eadie took Doorin’s wrist and swung his hand against the Subject’s face one more time. “Now carry on,” she said. She stormed out of the chamber, glancing sideways at Lawrence as she passed. He opened his mouth to say something but she raised a palm.

“Don’t even start, Lawrence,” she said, “unless you want me to prove I can discipline you, too.” He fell in behind her and their two guides scrambled to resume their position in front, each carrying a lantern to light their way through the winding tubes.

“We do need obedience, Lawrence,” she said without turning toward him. “But it’s more than just that. We also need passion. Without it, we’ll never win.”

“Win what?” Lawrence asked. He kept his eyes forward as she shot him a threatening glance.

“Ring trap!” the guides said, pointing at the floor. Lawrence was starting to recognize the pattern of cracks that indicated a ring trap; the pieces of concrete arranged along the bottom of the tunnel that would collapse under a foot and bring a huge portion of the ceiling down on whoever was passing. It was the most common device here, probably because it required very little in the way of resources to set it up. The guides carried a special board with them, with feet at each end that could be placed over the various traps. He carefully walked along the board and over the ring as the guides held the lanterns, and then the guides were off again, zipping through the tunnel ahead of him, board wagging gently behind the last one with every step.

“Are we going through any old basements this time?” Lawrence asked. “I like the basements. Nice, flat floors, walls that go straight up and down … ceilings that you don’t bang your head on no matter which way you turn … “

“I don’t think so,” Eadie said. “They’re taking us farther and farther from places where ordinary people might wander in. Those old basements and boiler rooms can still sometimes be reached from above, you know. Same with all the steam tunnels we use so much. I think the Subjects have done a lot to seal them off from the outside world, but this seems like a more remote area to me.”

Her hand appeared on his shoulder. She leaned in close. Lawrence’s thoughts flew to the time when he’d been a wealthy student, she’d been a waitress, and he’d so often fantasized about being the one to rescue her.

“I need you to stay close to me, Lawrence,” Eadie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Back then, it would have thrilled him to hear those words from her. Now he just found it confusing. In the diner, he’d been a prince. Now he had no corporation, no family, no money or social standing or future. In Eadie’s world, nobody had things like that. People who weren’t extraordinary in some way, like Eadie or Kel or Dok, weren’t likely to survive. And Lawrence wasn’t a leader or a fighter or a healer. He had never done anything to distinguish himself, unless you counted throwing away his future and disgracing his family.

“Why me?” he asked.

“The Subjects are so deferential and subdued that there’s no way to be sure what they’re actually thinking. I can’t trust them. I need at least one person around me who will always be honest and straightforward. And who I can be sure isn’t a threat. That’s you.”

Lawrence sighed and smiled to himself. Not a threat. That was him.

“Whatever you need, Eadie. I’m glad to help if I can.”

They hadn’t taken many steps before the guides gave another warning. “Dart trap!” It was the kind where a single stone displaced by an errant foot would create a cascade of others onto a special bladder dug under the tunnel, which forced air through tiny, hidden tubes and fired a barrage of mycotoxin-coated darts.

They climbed over the dart trap and went another ten paces or so before the guides called out again. “Drop trap!”

This was an ancient technique, having the floor suddenly drop out and the trespasser plummet to a grisly end on the sharpened debris below, but the Subjects had made these particularly nasty. The protruding rocks one might grab to stop a fall had all been loosened and planted with hidden poisonous barbs. Toxic fungi grew on the sharp surfaces below the drop trap, and Lawrence had been told that the corpse of a single victim could keep those strains alive and actively producing toxins down there for a thousand years.

As they progressed along the path, the traps were laid closer and closer together. At last they reached a tunnel that had been completely collapsed by a triggered ring trap. The debris sealed the tube from bottom to top.

The guides set down their lanterns and began working to move a concrete slab at the edge of the debris. About half of it was covered by the collapse, but they were able to loosen the part closest to them. They tugged on the slab, pulling it out and away, finally revealing an opening wide enough for a person to enter. They climbed over a small threshold and beckoned for Eadie and Lawrence to follow.

Eadie went through first, gasping as she straightened up. Then Lawrence, who had been left in the dark, clambered through the entryway. He, too, had room enough to stand. The chamber was not very wide, but it was long enough that all four of them could have stretched out on the floor end to end.

Down the middle of the room was a narrow path. The area immediately inside was a pile of sticks, chains, bats, knives, and other endless varieties of slashing, stabbing, and clubbing weapons. Behind this pile, stacked on either side of the walkway, from floor to ceiling, were hundreds and hundreds of guns.

There were old handguns like Old Fart carried, assault rifles like the Fiends had used at the hotel, recently-manufactured guns like the UE had, and even some Federal weapons. About a third of them had been smashed by the various traps that had claimed them. The rest looked to be in perfect working order. Hanging from the gun barrels were other kinds of military equipment like pieces of body armor, grenades, firebombs, and communications gear.

Eadie walked toward the center of the room, surveying the Underground Kingdom’s surprisingly impressive arsenal. “How many are there?” she asked.

The two guides looked at each other. One nodded in agreement as the other spoke. “I believe there are a few more than twenty-two hundred weapons, General … Not quite one for each Subject.”

Amelix Retreat

A subsidiary of Amelix Corporation

 

NOTICE OF REASSIGNMENT:

(.*?)

 

Dear Eric Basali #117B882QQ

CONGRATULATIONS!

The Case Management Committee responsible for monitoring your progress has recommended your advancement into the order of the Accepted. A recognition ceremony will take place this evening at 7:00pm in the religious services hall, at which time you will receive your Accepted mirror and collar pin.

You may elect to return to your previous work assignment as a Corporate Regulations Technician or you may choose to remain at Amelix Retreat to help guide new Seekers toward the light. Please consider these options carefully and be prepared to announce your decision as a part of tonight’s ceremony. Arrangements will be made immediately to facilitate your transition.

Welcome to the Amelix family of fully Accepted members!

Outside Fiend territory, near one of the Zone’s minor entertainment areas:

Spiral stood panting over the dealer’s dead body. His voice came out hushed but excited. “I don’t know how you do it, Frontman Saaamurai. Another easy scooore—and this one had tons.”

Brian sighed, hanging the sword behind his back. “Dealers are eeeasy to find when you know their habits.” He accepted the three bags of powder from Spiral, each one bigger than his head. “Nice work heeere,” he said. “Looks like I chose the right Round to take out toniiight. Check the dead caaarefully—there’ll be weapons up sleeeeves and behind backs.”

“It’s eearly, sir,” Spiral said. “Still lots of daark hours ahead. We ought to be able to sniff out a few more, eh, sir?”

“I think so. These three went dooown without a single shot.” His voice quavered as he remembered the sword cut he had made. He cleared his throat, attempting to swallow the thrill of causing so much pain. “Wee’ll stick to blades … avoooid Federal nuisances. If the guns come out, we head baaack. Besides, blades are much morrre fun.”