Mercury Revolts (30 page)

“What do you think?” said the
Homeland Security officer.

“Better than a tetanus shot!”
said the reporter.

They both chuckled, and then
the reporter said, “And now, Donna with the weather!”

Suzy turned the TV off.
“Sickening,” she said. “Why do people put up with this shit?”

“It’s for
their
own
good,” said Michelle. “If you’re not doing anything wrong—”

“Don’t say it!” screamed
Suzy. “I don’t care if you
are
an archangel. If you say, ‘if you aren’t
doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about,’ I will pull those
gorgeous brown locks right out of your fucking head!”

“Try it,” said Michelle, with
a smirk.

Suzy glared at her. “Are you
seriously trying to argue that the government has our best interests at heart
when you know full well that the government is in the hands of a
demon
?”

“Because
you
put her there!”

“You’re missing the fucking
point!” screamed Suzy. “You’re an
archangel
.
The best
of the best.
The highest moral authority on this
planet.
And when you were in charge, you tried to detonate a fucking
nuclear bomb in one of your own cities!”

“The plan,” said Michelle
icily, “was to detonate the bomb
near
the city.
Which
is exactly what happened.
”

“No thanks to you and the
gang of knuckleheads you entrusted with the bomb,” snapped Suzy. “Not to
mention the fact that you seem to think it’s totally cool to detonate a nuclear
bomb
near
a major city.”

Michelle stared daggers at
Suzy.

“And as utterly fucked up as
that is,” Suzy went on, “I’m willing to accept that this Tiamat character might
actually be an even more heinous bitch than you are. But that’s not the point.
The point is that
nobody should be trusted with that sort of power
. Once
you’ve got the capability to track people’s movements twenty-four hours a day,
the temptation to try to control their behavior is too great.”

“Hmm,” said Mercury.
Everyone’s eyes turned to him.

“What do you mean, ‘Hmm,’”
said Suzy.

“Does it seem strange to
anyone else that Tiamat would be pushing this RFID thing right now?” Mercury
said. “I mean, what’s the point?”

“Security,” said Suzy. “She
wants to know where everyone is at all times.”

“Everyone
in Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

“For starters,” said Suzy.
“Presumably she’ll move on to other cities.”

Mercury shook his head.
“Something doesn’t add up.”

“I agree,” said Michelle.
“Tiamat is overplaying her hand. She has to know there will be major pushback
against something like this.”

“Unless there isn’t,” said
Mercury.
“Balderhaz!”

Balderhaz stepped out from
behind a curtain. “Eh?”

“Do you know anything about
these tracking chips?”

“Mmm,” said Balderhaz.
“Neural implant chips. Hack right into the central nervous system.
Very bad.”

“Oh, shit,” said Eddie
suddenly. “Rosenfeld was working on a story about this for BitterAngels.net. I
thought he was going a bit off the reservation, so I didn’t pay much attention.
But I remember him talking about some plot to get these chips implanted in
everybody. He said the tracking part was just a Trojan horse.”

“Ugh,” said Mercury.

“What?” asked
Suzy.

“Nothing,” said Mercury.
“Bad memories.
I
mean,
the
smell
.
You have no idea. Go on.”

“Anyway,” Eddie went on,
“Rosenfeld said the RFID thing was just to trick people into getting the chips
implanted. He said the real purpose was mind control.”

“Mind control?” asked Suzy
dubiously.

“That fits,” said Mercury. “Tiamat’s
an even bigger control freak than Michelle. No offense.”

Michelle shrugged.

“She’s going to chip
everybody in Grand Rapids,” Mercury went on. “There won’t be any complaints
about the chips, because when she’s done, they’ll all be her puppets. And when
the rest of the country sees how happy, well-adjusted and secure the Grand
Rapidians are, they’ll be lining up for their own chips.
Diabolical.
Grand Rapiders.”

“Grand Rapidites,” offered
Eddie.

“Grand Rapitians,” said
Mercury. “Grand Ra—”

“So what can we do about it?”
Suzy interrupted.

The room fell silent again.

“The chips are made by some
outfit in Utah,” Eddie said after a moment.
“Mental
something.”

“Mentaldyne,” said Michelle.

“OK,” said Suzy. “So we go
find this Mentaldyne place and blow it up.”

Everybody turned to look at
Suzy.

“Weren’t you just insisting a
few days ago that you aren’t a terrorist?” asked Mercury.

“Desperate times,” said Suzy.

“Blow it up with what?” asked
Eddie.

“Whatever,” said
Suzy.
“Use your angel powers. Surely between the five of
you, you can destroy a building.”

“It won’t matter,” said
Michelle. “It will slow down the production of the chips for a while, but it
won’t stop Tiamat. And she’ll use the attack on Mentaldyne as a rationale for
more security. I would.”

“So we’re screwed,” Suzy
said. “Tiamat’s going to have absolute control over everyone in the United
States, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The room fell silent again.
If anyone could stop Tiamat, it was the six individuals sitting in this room,
and none of them had any ideas.

Chapter Forty
               
 

Washington,
D.C.; August 2016

Zion Johnson stood watching the news
while he dressed for his flight. Zion Johnson was well aware that the idea of
dressing for a flight was anachronistic; it was pathetically common these days
for people to board flights wearing sweatpants or, God forbid, even pajamas. As
with most signs of societal decay, Zion Johnson’s reaction was to attempt to
hold the line against barbarism by adhering to a strict personal code. So it
was that Zion Johnson was tying a double Windsor knot in preparation for a
three hour flight from Washington, D.C. to Grand Rapids, Michigan.

While he did so, the bubble-headed bleach-blond on the TV
yammered on about what was happening in Grand Rapids. There had been some
skirmishes between the National Guard troops and a few locals resisting the
chip implantation. Whoever was currently in charge of the program had resorted
to a heavy-handed policy of sending men in combat gear door-to-door to perform
the implantations, and it was turning into a PR nightmare. Zion Johnson hoped
he could get there in time to reverse the damage. He planned a much subtler,
carrot-and-stick approach, setting up convenient implantation centers
throughout the city, and linking certain benefits to chip implantation. For
example, chipped citizens might get extra food rations or be allowed to travel
throughout the city without having to show ID at checkpoints. Since the
National Guard now controlled all traffic in and out of the city, the citizens
were largely dependent on the government for food and other staples, and they’d
long ago become acclimated to police checkpoints. It was the same strategy the
government had used on public housing residents: get the people hooked on some
government benefit—like being able to eat or move around—and then demand that
the recipients prove their worthiness to receive the benefit. It worked every
time.

And of course Zion Johnson planned to make a big show of all
the officials running the program—including
himself—
getting
chips implanted. So far the Washington, D.C. authorities and some local bigwigs
had resisted implantation, the former on the basis that they were not permanent
residents of Grand Rapids and the latter on the grounds that as government
officials and pillars of the community, they were above reproach. But that was
going to change. Zion Johnson was going to get chipped on national television
at the press conference announcing his new position, followed by all of his
underlings. Anyone who resisted would be sent back to Washington or fired—and
then chipped anyway. So far the elites had gotten a free ride, but Zion Johnson
was about to show the people of Grand Rapids that nobody was above being
chipped. The program only worked if everyone was on board.

At least that’s what Zion Johnson kept telling himself. Zion
Johnson’s entire life had been defined by following orders. He always did what
was asked of him, even if it didn’t necessarily jibe with his personal sense of
right and wrong, in service to his country. Zion Johnson always followed
orders. And that’s what bothered him.

Zion Johnson didn’t
need
to be chipped. He was like a
dog who had never once barked in twenty-eight years being fitted for a muzzle.
He should be given a medal for all the sacrifices he’d made for his country,
and instead he was being put on a leash. Leashes were for the unwashed rabble,
the pajama-wearing, Big Gulp-drinking, Walmart-shopping, tramp stamp-having
masses. Not for Zion Johnson, who had given everything for his country.

And yet, why should it bother him? He’d already proved he’d
do whatever the president asked of him, even if the president was being
manipulated by strange beings from another dimension. He should be happy to be
getting chipped. He’d no longer have to worry about overcoming his personal
qualms or foibles to serve his country. Absolute obedience would be ensured.
His mantra would no longer be necessary.

Superior attitude, superior state of mind
, he
thought. What would Mason Storm do?

Zion Johnson checked his watch. He had three minutes until
he needed to leave for the airport. Three minutes in which he could do whatever
he wanted.

Zion Johnson sat down at his computer and brought up his
email. Sitting in his inbox was an encrypted file that someone in Tiamat’s
organization had sent him the night before. He clicked the Forward button,
typed in an email address, and then hit Send. In a separate email he sent the
decryption key. Then he shut down the computer, grabbed his suitcase, and
walked out the door.

Zion Johnson had a job to do.

Chapter Forty-one
       
 

Somewhere
in Missouri; August 2016

The five angels and one human hiding
in a farmhouse in Missouri had spent most of the night arguing about how to
stop Tiamat and, despite Eddie’s best efforts to keep the discussion on track,
engaging in bitter recriminations regarding who was to blame for their current
predicament. Suzy and Michelle were the most vocal participants; Perp had
little advice to give for once, Balderhaz had disappeared, and Eddie had his
hands full keeping Michelle and Suzy from killing each other—or, more
accurately, preventing Suzy from punching Michelle and Michelle from vaporizing
Suzy with a snap of her fingers.

During a lull in the finger-pointing and backbiting, Eddie
took a break to post an update to the BitterAngels.net site from his phone. He
hadn’t seen anything on the news about what had happened to Rosenfeld, and he
didn’t feel like he was in a position to break the story at present, so he
simply posted a short note explaining that the BitterAngels.net
staff were
dealing with some “personal issues,” and that
they would resume updating the site as soon as possible. The conspiracy-minded
frequenters of the site would undoubtedly jump to the conclusion that Rosenfeld
had been “disappeared,” which of course he had, and Eddie was totally OK with
that.

The recriminations not yet having resumed in full-force
(Suzy, being human, had fallen asleep around seven am, leaving Michelle without
a sparring partner), Eddie then checked the BitterAngels.com email address that
was posted on the site for readers to use for sending in anonymous tips. Among
the penis enlargement remedies, lucrative offers from Nigerian princes, and the
usual dire and incomprehensible missives from the tinfoil hat crowd, there were
two emails that caught his eye. The subject of the first was simply “Fish.” The
subject of the second was “Chips.” Both came from an anonymous email account
bearing the name
A Freeman
.

“Um, guys?” said Eddie, after decrypting the file and
perusing its contents. “I think I might know how to stop Tiamat.”

After Suzy was awoken and Balderhaz was found (he’d
inadvertently trapped himself in the beet cellar), Eddie explained that he’d received
a copy of the Mentaldyne specifications for the mind control program, with
precise details on how the system worked. Balderhaz had been right: the chips
were designed to directly interface with the nervous system, allowing a remote
agent to control the thoughts and actions of potentially millions of people.
Grand Rapids was only the first step; soon the whole world would be under
Tiamat’s control.

“So far,” said Mercury, “I’m not seeing the good news.”

“Ah, but here’s the thing,” said Eddie. “The mind control
signals are transmitted via a complex array of radio signals, on several
different bandwidths. It’s a very delicate system requiring a transmitter
specially designed for the purpose. They call it Myrmidon. Ultimately
Mentaldyne plans to have a globe-spanning network of satellites for full
coverage and redundancy, but at present there’s only a single satellite, parked
in geosynchronous orbit over North America.”