‘What's that, Sal?’
‘It's a particle dilution field. It dilutes a person's particles down to another form - ants, bugs - doesn't matter. Something tiny, harmless, innocuous. I transfer the Soul of the original particle field, into the diluted containment field. The world leaders fight it out there.’
‘Can you throw 'em into a hard drive? Make it virtual reality so we can watch.’
‘Jimmy's been picking up on it, at the base. The neural netting all the recruits get, it diagnostics their cerebellum, speech movements and eye fluttering first. So we can learn how they speak - consciously, subconsciously, verbally, everything. Lately all the kids - the language they use, it’s similar to computer terms, things programmers would say to diagnose a computing problem, except these kids are applying the terms to themselves. He thinks they were premodded, Sal, some of them, birth to now. Already part computer, if not physically, in how they learn and communicate with the world. Jimmy thinks it's a subcoding program, something Sentient, something slowly watching and modifying these recruits, from the other side of the screen.’
‘I call them Dream Catchers, but they ain't catchin’ no dreams, Sally, they's stealin’ people's souls. It's like that neural netting thing the doctors kept telling you about, for me, ya know for ‘treatment,’ but it ain't treatin’ nothin.’ It’s ejecting people, from their own bodies, pushin’ them in to tiny little corners of their brains, and then other things take over. Other updates, other dreams, other…behaviors. From what I can tell, they's specifically targeting anyone still believing in the American Dream. Sal - they're trying to catch American souls. And chain US.’
‘What's this, Sal?’ asked Johnny. He put the pamphlet he just finished reading down on the coffee table. He adjusted the baby over his shoulder, patting his back slightly to get the air out. ‘Burrrrp.’ ‘Good job, little guy,’ Johnny soothed in to his ear.
‘It's a story - for the women going. Not enough of them studied biology, or had life experience around children, or men. Everything was astrophysics,’ Sally said.
‘I love it. Make another for the guys, I'll get it to them. Call it Boobs on Mars.’
‘Neurologian? What's that, Sal'?’
‘What I started callin’ your doctors. They're idiots. Heretical. Blasphemers. How can they call themselves American, Johnny, when's they tryin’ to make US Act like we's puppets or somethin’? Ain't no shame in needin’ help or implants or physical therapy, prosthetics, but these people are freaks. They act like they're God, like they designed US, like they's get to decide-’
‘I know, Sal. I know. They's ain't American. They're paid stooges. The good thing is though, money always leaves a trail.’ He put down his spoon for his slop. ‘We know they ain't spendin’ no money on our food, or our care- There's always a trail to follow.’
‘I got the deal, Sally, finally.’ Johnny sighed a sigh of relief. ‘They're coming through on the manufacturing end. I've got everybody covered. Caravan cars, tent cities. Everything's convertible. If someone loses their job, or a state or city gets attacked, everyone's getting a vehicle they can modify along the way into a temporary shelter. I got ‘em setting up storage facilities along the way and-’
Sally looked at him, smiling. Johnny hadn't been this happy in years, not since his accident. Her smile stopped him mid sentence. He smiled back at her.
‘It's good right?’
She looked at their son, playing with the toy train circling the Christmas Tree. ‘It’s better than good.’
‘Those ain't vitamins, Sal, and the doc didn't give Jimmy his prescription either. All that's worse than poison. I got a guy on the docks, another at the supply chain, one more at the distribution center - everything's nannitic now. Everything's eatin’ up our friends and family, changin’ ‘em from the inside out.’
‘Rewirin’ ‘em?’ Sally rubbed her stomach, more concerned than before for their child.
‘Yea. Don't worry, Sal. I got US covered.’
‘Nah, these ain't our guys, Sally, at least not no more. Discipline ain't conformity, and these guys ain't disciplined unless they're punching conformity at each other.’ He looked at the transport vehicles moving across the road. Sitting on their porch it was easy to see the dust kicked up by the vehicles. ‘They's dressed like we used to, but this ain't it, Sal. This ain't Freedom.’
‘Nah, Sal, it don't make sense to communicate like that anymore - everyone's got the same tech, it's an equal playing field out there, everything's intercepted. This, this is somethin’ no one will see comin’.’
‘What is it Johnny?’ whispered Sally in his ear. He bent down and put the necklace on her, a gift for Christmas.
He leaned back and locked eyes with her. Sally's eyes widened slightly, in shock and surprise. ‘Ya hear it?’
‘Is that…you? I hear your voice, but inside my head.’
‘Yea, it's me, Sal. Got the tech off some BlackOps project a while ago. Had it reconfigured so we could, ya know, talk. You, me, and the little guy. Subspace communication, impossible to intercept.’
‘Ya don't go there, ya don't fight ‘em, and ya sure as Hell don't Mate with ‘em,’ spat the sailor. An old shipmate of Johnny's from overseas had landed himself in the hospital. ‘Diagnosed as ‘an old man sputterin’ nonsense,’’ he shouted at the nurse trying to enter Johnny's room. The door closed quickly, and a hermetic seal Sally had installed the year previously breathed shut with a pucker. The old sailor continued, ‘I went over- was told I'd had relatives overseas, a big genealogy hullabaloo - ‘come meet yer new relatives!’ they said to me, they did.’ He leaned in closer, ‘They ain't nothin’ but puppets. They'll look human, they'll talk human - but watch 'em, Johnny - they ain't human.’
‘A lure?,’ Johnny grunted. His trachea had begun to heal, and he could whisper a word or two if the occasion warranted.
‘A lure,’ the old man nodded. ‘Meant to divide, create confusion, reveal our resources and motivations. Puppets.’
‘Ya don't go there, ya don't fight ‘em, and ya sure as Hell don't Mate with ‘em,’ spat the sailor. An old shipmate of Johnny's from overseas had landed himself in the hospital. ‘Diagnosed as ‘an old man sputterin’ nonsense,’’ he shouted at the nurse trying to enter Johnny's room. The door closed quickly, and a hermetic seal Sally had installed the year previously breathed shut with a pucker. The old sailor continued, ‘I went over- was told I'd had relatives overseas, a big genealogy hullabaloo - ‘come meet yer new relatives!’ they said to me, they did.’ He leaned in closer, ‘They ain't nothin’ but puppets. They'll look human, they'll talk human - but watch 'em, Johnny - they ain't human.’
‘A lure?,’ Johnny grunted. His trachea had begun to heal, and he could whisper a word or two if the occasion warranted.
‘A lure,’ the old man nodded. ‘Meant to divide, create confusion, reveal our resources and motivations. Puppets.’
‘They ain't US, Sal. I got an intel report from Jimmy. All them blokes, overseas - modded. Hardwire rewired after captured. Descendants trained to look and think like US - but act against US in every thought, word, and deed. It's like they got rebooted or somethin’, like somethin’ in ‘em makes ‘em not want to be free. They're obsessed, Sal, with hate, control…it’s gonna be bad, unless we fix it now.’
Sally put down the HoloSphere headset. She knew things were bad on the outside, outside the base, but she didn't know it had reached this far inside either.
‘After it learned Transfusionic Photonization - the AI took some Liberty, as an American - ‘ She looked at Johnny and he nodded for her to continue. ‘So all these guys, the ones stuck in the hospital with you here - it can get them out, Johnny. It'll look like dying to the nurses and docs - dying before their experiments are done. The AI can upload and transfer their consciousness, their soul, and create a new biome for them, and while we work in the physical-’
‘It’s taking care of them elsewhere?’
She nodded. ‘It’s gonna look horrible, Johnny, them all dyin’ at once here - violent like, but this AI - it needs to put on a show.’
Johnny nodded, unplugging the connection to the HoloSphere. He had to find a way to tell Jimmy.
‘It’s shadow puppet game, Sal. High tech like. They want in our heads. I've been noticing - they make the rounds with the other guys, give ‘em their tranqs and food, but Sal there's somethin’ in that food.’ He dug in to the bagel she brought him in the HoloSphere. It wasn't real, but keeping daily habits assisted his brain in returning to normalcy, and kept his digestive system active during the stem cell treatment. ‘Thanks, Sal,’ he said smiling, chewing through the sesame seeds and scallions.
She smiled. ‘New combination - gotta keep your brain active.’
He nodded and finished chewing. ‘So what I was sayin’ - Sal, the guys start screaming, or talking gibberish. It's about a 15 minute headway, and it travels the halls the same way the food carts do. And it ain't neural mapping - it ain't rebuilding,’ he looked at her. ‘It ain't what you're doing for me. It's tearing them down. I think they're looking for somethin’, in their heads, Sal.’
Johnny sat with Sally on the front porch, overlooking the lake in their yard. ‘They’s ain’t seen nothin’, yet, Sal, these drifters. They ain’t never seen nature like we’s got in store for ‘em.’ The wind whipped up as he spoke, leaves twirling by his feet. ‘The trees ain’t done this in years, not years,’ he whispered, leaning toward her, handing her their son. ‘My Gramps used to talk about this - when nature comes alive - he said. Whenever too many bad folk get in the way of what’s good - that’s when nature exerts ITS free will.’
She took the baby from her husband.
‘It’s okay, Sal. We got enough stores, relax.’
‘I suggest, Sir,’ she said, sliding the pile of papers back to him, ‘that you reread that with my notes. Your rice contains arsenic, your cinnamon contains lead, your water and fish are radioactive..’ She leveled her gaze at him. ‘What is your endgame? Evolution? Devolution? Biome modification? Poison? Death? Space travel? Remote genetic testing?’ She pursed her lips for a moment, breathing in. ‘No, sir. Either way these food banks only serve to enrich you - we will be closing all trade. If you wish communication to continue, I will establish a remote dialing system. All concepts are theoretical, and it is up to you and your populace to continue your survival. The only thing I will trade is data. You will choose your path this war.’ She stood up, indicating the meeting was over. ‘Once you leave this room, your population will be on its own. But I will continue to assist you remotely if I can. May you survive,’ she said, shaking the diplomat's hand. It wasn't his fault his leaders were desperate, and she did not want a country of corpses on her conscience again this war.
Sally’s hologram walked back to Johnny after the bunker door closed.
‘I call ‘em the Peace Pretenders, Sal. They don't care about peace. They dress war up in fancy science and banquets, but they don’ care about peace, about people's lives. They don’ care about nothin’.’ He bent down and lifted the little latch on Sally's grave. Her corpse finally finished uploading all of her data- biometric markers, DNA, genetic coordinates, epigenetic alterations of her. Her hologram appeared next to him. ‘We gotta coordinate, Sal.’ Her hologram sat next to him at their gravesite. ‘We gotta keep going. For their Future.’ The hologram nodded, watching their children bend down, leaving roses on their grave.
‘It’s a cousin war, Sal, that’s the gist I’m gettin’ from Jimmy while he’s redeployed. He said they shipped the genetically modified poppies in the cereal and bagels, they started gene editing on the grapes and apples overseas - everything is war-level now. So when’s they ship in the soldiers and they keep goin’ at the Irish and Catholic drunks here, as they like to say-’ he hushed for a minute, listening to Sal. ‘Sal I know, but by stalkin’ you and intimidating your family - you ain’t even been able to go to Church and get the Eucharist - all alcohol is forbidden, right? They jus’ usin’ religion against religion economically, tryin’ to make all US integrated folk over here start fightin’. They’s limitin’ resources next, financial. Then they start with the pagan hootanany, tellin’ US we’re all descendants of Irish witches and wizards again.’ He paused again, listenin’ to his Sal, ‘I know, Sal, they f’n crazy. They even callin’ US the Holy Ghost now. I swear to Christ, on my life, every time the wind whistles in the trees they think it’s a ghost or somethin’.’
‘Zoom in on the camera there, Sal,’ Johnny whispered to Sally. She was home sitting in their small den on the military base, Johnny still in the hospital. Talking with the HoloSphere was all they could do now with her this far along in her second trimester. ‘Ya see it? The price? What’s it say?’
‘$4.06.’
‘So higher than the advertised price?’
She zoomed the camera toward the back of the store. ‘Yea,’ she nodded. ‘Much higher, even if they changed prices at the distributor this morning, it’s still higher than the tax and bottle deposit.’
‘Okay, that’s what I thought,’ Johnny said. ‘I been talkin’ to Jimmy, and his gal noticed the same thing. Different prices at different times of day, for different people. I’m gonna get our ol'd buddy Jake on the line, see is he can test some algorithms for US without seemin’ too desperate. I think they’re using racism and reparations encoded in the machines to ID targets, and run war numbers for China, using the system simultaneously to herd people economically speakin’, but I can’t be sure without more data.’
Sally hung up the HoloSphere, smiling. Even paralyzed in the VA Johnny was more man than anyone she had ever met.
‘Ya know what they doin’, Sal? I overheard the nurse.’
‘Overheard, Johnny?’
He raised a lip, and an eyebrow, “Yea, well, Sal, I gotta do what I gotta do to keep you and him safe,’ he nodded at her stomach, glowing in the HoloSphere, slightly bulging. He squinted his eye slightly and saw the outline, first skeletal, then nervous, then circulatory. ‘He’s doin’ good, Sal. You hungry, you eatin’-’
She cut him off, ‘I’m fine, Johnny. What did you hear?’
‘Well the nurses in their comms, they was sayin’ they do this whole English Monarch Underground jazz thing. They take girls married overseas, US girls, our kind, and they create this rubbished history - false genetic schematics, false adoptive records - and even if it’s true, which I mean, who’s to say, but either way they kidnap them electronically, and reinsert the girls back home, here. Tha’s the real project Monarch, from what I can tell. Using US to get and spread intelligence, an internal coup.’ She sneezed. ‘Sal, you okay?’ He rezzed a handkerchief in to her hand, the best he could do from his HoloSphere. ‘Get some rest, I’m gonna send Jimmy over with some chicken soup for you and the little guy.’ He squeezed her hand, and turned off his side of the Sphere. He knew they were watching, and needed to see what they would do next.