Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots (7 page)

“This place is the death of America, get out while you still can.”

“What are you talking about?” Terry began to suspect this fella had ingested too much Agent Orange and LSD in his time.

“Before they inject you with the chip. Once you get the chip, it’s too late.”

The chip?
Oh, fuck….
Terry wondered if Dean was right, but mostly he tried to cast doubt on this man’s sanity. “Um, okay. Thanks, man. I’ve got to find my sister now, so I’ll talk to you later.” And Terry began to walk away.

“Don’t let them give you the chip!” the old vet cried out behind him, “Don’t do it!”

Terry waved and tried to smile.
This isn’t happening….

“Excuse me, sir?” Terry said.

The tall, stalky man (a guard?) turned slowly toward Terry and stared blankly. He was looking right at Terry, but not in the eyes. It was more like he was staring at the bridge of his nose or maybe between his eyebrows. “Hi…how would I find someone that I think might be here?”

The man looked off to his left without a word. When he saw this subtle gesture didn’t properly communicate whatever it was he was trying to say, he motioned with the tip of his rifle. He seemed to be indicating toward a door, a plain slab of mahogany with no label or sign.

Terry turned to look then back again. “That door over there? Wha—,” but the man was already gone. “Thanks, you’ve been very helpful,” Terry said to himself.

His bracelet flashed again and caught his eye. He spun it around his wrist and found it curious that it could not be removed without some sort of special tool. It reminded him of the anti-theft tags on clothing that would blast ink if improperly removed.
Or something worse.

“Hey, man. Where are you going? Don’t go in there.” It was the man in the wheelchair again. “If you go in there, they
own
you.”

“Listen, man. I just need to find my sister.”

“Your sister? Jesus! The last thing you want to do is tell them you have a sister in here. Don’t tell them anything.”

“Okay….” Maybe Terry would get further by humoring this guy, even if he was a
little short
in the sanity department. “Then, what would you suggest?”

“I would suggest you turn around and leave while you still can.”

“That's not an option,” Terry said. “Not without my sister.”

“
If
your sister's even here,” the man said. “If you go in there and talk to them right now, they’ll talk you into the chip. Once you’ve got the chip, it’s GAME OVER, pal. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200. You understand?”

“No. I don’t understand. Nothing you’re saying is making any sense at all.”

The old vet pressed his index finger to his forehead, his jaw tightened, and his eyes nearly protruded out from his face staring at Terry.

“Yeah well, I’ve never been too keen on charades,” Terry said, “So what is it?”

“Jesus, man, you
are
a dense one. If you get the chip, you are owned. Get it? They tell you where to go, what to do—what your job is and you can’t leave.”

“Why couldn’t I leave? And why would I get the chip if it’s what you say it is?”

The vet shook his head like he was talking to an idiot. “You can’t leave because the chip will explode if you do. The chip gives you your work assignment and your zone. You leave the zone—
BOOM
! You try and take your chip out—
KERPLEWY
!”

“So, why get it?”

“Cuz you can’t get the vaccine if you don’t!”

“The—flu vaccine?”

“Good God, man! What else?”

“What if I’m not sick? I mean, what if I’m immune?”

“Then you can’t buy, or sell, or work without the chip. You’re fucked either way.”

“Well, all right, sunshine. Good talk, excuse me,” And Terry stepped around him.

“Wait! I can help you.”

Terry slowed, then stopped and turned. He didn’t speak, he only looked at the man in the wheelchair and waited for it.

“Your sister—if she’s here, but not
here
,” he said, as he did a cursory glance around the center, “Then she’s on work assignment.”

“Work assignment? Where? How do I find her?” Terry took a few steps back toward the goofy bastard.

“If you don’t see her here, then I would look for her in Infrastructure,” the man said.

“Infrastructure?” Terry said. “And what does that mean?”

“Infrastructure Division is power, water, heat...that kinda thing. They’ve got most all the able bodies working there. If not there, then maybe in sanitation or scavenging. I don’t know, but most people are working at getting the power going. Sure, it’s on here, thanks to the solar panels and generators outside, but it’s still off everywhere else.”

“So, how do I find her?” Terry asked.

“I would bet my chips on the transfer station. They’ve got some big generators over there that FEMA brought in. They’re trying to get everything patched up and start pumping power into Seattle again.”

“Which is…where?”

“That’s the kicker,” the old vet said, “you’ll never even get close to the place if you don’t get chipped yourself. Can you see the conundrum?” Apparently this was funny because he started laughing. Not just chuckling, but laughing.
Apocalypse humor?

“Hilarious. So how do I get the chip?”

“Slow down there—
name?
What’s your name?”

“It’s Terry.”

“Well, slow down there, Terry. My name’s Thomas. Thomas Collins.” He extended a put ‘er there hand. Terry shook, then looked at him—
WELL??

“The first thing you need to be doing before volunteering for the goddamn chip is figure out how you’re gonna get rid of the damn thing.” Terry could hardly wait to hear this one.

“I suppose you’ve got some ideas on the matter?”

“Oh, you know it, brother.”

Terry tested the lever on the door—locked, so he began to pound on it. Another man bearing a fully automatic rifle opened the door, pointing it at Terry’s chest.
Jesus, what is it with these fucking guys?

“Excuse me, I need some information,” Terry said.

“What kind of information?”

“My sister is here, and I need to find her.”

“Okay. Let me just verify your identity,” He said, and produced a pen-sized scanner from his breast pocket. Terry had actually thought it was a pen. The guard waved it over Terry’s forehead and then his right hand.

“I’m sorry, sir, but that information is classified. We don’t give information to non-patriots about anyone in our zone.”

“Non-patriots? I’m an American, and it’s my sister I’m talking about!”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you until you’ve been verified, now back up.” He didn’t look like he was joking, and Terry didn’t relish the thought of a rifle slug in his chest.

He pinned his elbows to his sides and raised his hands slightly. “Okay…what do I need to do?”

“Hold on.” He closed the door, it latched loudly. He returned a moment later with a clipboard full of paperwork and a pen attached by a short lanyard. “Come back after you’ve got this filled out with your identification.”

I don’t have any identification, Terry thought to say, but the door was latched tight before the thought was given breath.

“So, here’s what you do—you get the chip, find your sister, you dig the chip out and implant it into a dog or something.”

Terry kept scribbling and barely lifted his head.

“Or—you could take it out in a warm water bath…. That actually might be better…. Hmmm….” Thomas was deep in thought now, granting Terry temporary quiet.

“What the hell is this?” Terry began, “They want to know how I’ve voted in every election.”

“Yup. Think liberal. You put down conservative candidates, and you might not even get the chip…which would
actually
be doing yourself a huge favor.” Thomas trailed off with the last part, but Terry heard him just fine.

“Okay, then—it’s Gore, Kerry, Obama, Obama?” The first Obama vote was even true. He had gotten pretty tired of Bush and the neocons waging war all over the planet. Some change had sounded pretty good. By the time 2012 rolled around, Terry had resigned himself to the truth: change, or at least positive change, was an absolute myth in the political arena. Same bullshit, different packaging. Maybe conservatives drove slower, but they were all heading to the same place, funded by the same corporations.

Thomas nodded his head. “Just tell ‘em what they wanna hear, and then you pledge allegiance to the New Patriots.”

“Jesus. They want to know everything, but the last time I took a dump. Gun control, healthcare, welfare, abortion, immigration, education….”

“They’re just trying to see if you’re gonna be a problem. Sing the tune that fits their ear, you got me? And when you get to the part about occupation, put down that you’re an electrician. Or a lineman…something like that.”

Terry interjected, “But I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

“That’s not the point, Terry. The point is finding your sister.”

“Well, yeah but….”

“Trust me.”

Terry couldn’t believe it, but here he was, trusting some guy who looked like he would be holding a cardboard sign on the Seattle streets, begging for change. At this point, what did he have to lose?

The flu shot wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. It put Terry under the weather for three days. What sort of irony was it that he, a survivor of the flu thus far, would catch it by being vaccinated against it? The microchip, on the other hand, was bad. It hurt like a bitch. It was injected into his forehead with a horse needle, wide as it was long. Once it found home, it sprung its little micro-tentacles like roots, locking it in place. Thomas suspected those tentacles were also part of the triggering mechanism. You break one of those little legs off and—
boom
…. Those little legs touch air and—
boom
…. Or those little legs get cold—
boom
….

This was a big commitment. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it. Terry was a Patriot now, though he didn’t suppose the word meant the same thing as it had in his old life, in the old world. Now it meant embracing tyranny—technology enforced communism. The New Patriotism. Only Terry wouldn’t embrace it; he would fake it. Just like Sunday school when he was a kid. It was just until he found Kat, got her and the kids out of here, to someplace safe…. But where?

He thought again of the east side of the Cascades. It was nothing but podunk towns, mountain streams and plenty of game. Maybe there, they would be left alone—forgotten. That would be just fine.

Terry had been put up in a kind of hostel. He was getting over the hump with the mini-flu the vaccine had given him and was glad for it. Glad, because he knew he wasn’t going to catch it full-fledged and glad, because this meant he would be put to work, giving him the opportunity to find his sister.
If she’s even here….

Of course, she’s here, he thought. Where else would she be? She’s not taking to the wilderness on her own with two small children. Of course, she’s here.
Unless she’s already dead….

“She’s not dead!” Terry blurted, surprising himself and the fella on the top bunk.

“Nah, man. She ain’t dead.” Jasper Ives poked his head over the edge of the bunk and smiled. Bright, white teeth were in stark contrast to his dark face. Like, Southern Sudan dark.

“Sorry…I guess I was talking to myself.”

“I guess you was,” he chuckled. It was a
booming
chuckle. A belly laugh would probably shake the halls. “So who is it that ain’t dead, whitey?”

Terry blushed a little at being called,
whitey.
“My sister. I’m looking for my sister.”

“Ah—well I’m sho’ she be fine. The
gubmints
been takin’ real good care up in here.”

“Yeah,” Terry replied flatly. “I’m Terry by the way.”

“Jasper.”

“So how long have you been here, Jasper? I mean—are you working?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a workin’ part-time with Infrastructure, and part-time doin’ salvage. You will be too, I expect.”

“Good. Yes.”

The bell rang, and it was time to watch another film. They watched films every day. Films about the new patriotism. Films about global responsibility and obedience.
We’re all just cogs in a machine, laboring for the greater good.
Some of it, he could sympathize with. The trouble was, who was at the controls of the great machine? What had happened to free will and opportunity?

Dean was right about this place…. This is a re-education camp….

Back at Command, a new leader took his oaths of office.

“And do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the New Patriot Charter?”

“I do,” Charles said, right hand upraised, left hand on a small book—The New Patriot Charter.

“And do you solemnly swear to uphold your duty as Chancellor, watcher over New Seattle, allegiant to the New Patriot Party alone?”

“I do.”

“By the powers vested in me by the New Patriot Party, I name you, Charles Price, Chancellor over New Seattle.”

“Thank you, sir,” Charles said, “I won’t let you down.”

The officiant extended his right hand. “Congratulations, Chancellor. Name your Second in Command.”

“I’ve chosen Rick Verdin as my Second,” Charles said.

“Rick Verdin. Please step forward.”

Rick was ceremoniously sworn in just as Charles had been and New Seattle had new leaders. Charles would lead until he was either decommissioned or dead. Rick would take over in the event of either scenario and then name his own Second.

FEMA and all the rest pulled out that night, bound for Salt Lake City to set up another
new city.

Charles and Rick got quite drunk that night, celebrating their new positions.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
hey sat at a fold up card-table in metal-backed chairs playing gin rummy.

“Do you ever—worry about all of this—training?” Terry asked Jasper.

“How do ya’ mean?”

“Well, doesn’t this kinda strike you as…a re-education camp?”

“Well, sure. Whatchu’ think? Course it is. We made a mess and now we’s gotta fix it.”