Chapter 4: Lord of Misrule
From /Signified ---- Book Two of 2084 Quartet
PLEASE NOTE: The following material is intended for mature readers only.
A Note on Language
It is inevitable, in a work of speculative fiction, that futuristic technologies, technical terms, and even everyday slang appear in the course of the narrative. For the convenience of the reader, the first time each of these neologisms appears in the story, it will be marked in boldface and hyperlinked to the Glossary of Terms and Slang, where you will be able to find a definition. Additionally, on occasion a non-English language will be used in the dialogue among characters. While no direct translations have been provided, never fear. The reader will be able, quite readily, to discern the meaning of these utterances within the context of the story.
Quick Plot Recap
In Chapter 3, the Wobblies overrun and take control of BoiCity—an unparalleled act of rebellion in TexArc. The political goals of Oak and his inner circle of Wobbly counselors, however, are not matching up well with those of Mall and her EVe infiltration team. Another key development is Enron’s covert mission to nearby Mountain Home ArcAir Base. Sent by Mall, Enron is tasked to locate the Wing Commander of the base, an AirColonel named Bacardi, and convince him to experience a “taste,” that is, a revealing and persuasive video spot specially designed by Mall and Brand. The purpose of this powerful taste is to trigger Terds into class sympathy and political solidarity with Servs, creating an alliance of these two groups against the Crat ruling class. Enron succeeds in his mission, and Mall and Brand’s unique piece of signification seems to work.
Chapter 4
Lord of Misrule
8.8.84
sender/receiver untraced: Oui?
reply not traceable: Yes. By all necessary means.
**********
12.8.84
Madam Administer and Headminister Natwest:
We have come through, at long last, an interminable four days of unspeakable carnage. These days have rendered our grand victory, in my view, an utter setback. Thus, while it is certainly gratifying to hear your news that our actions in TexArc have made the beast flinch at least, causing its global forces to retract a hint from their aggressive positioning against us, I must report that I nonetheless feel a perfect Victor Frankenstein. Only I’ve not abandoned my creation. My creature appears to be abandoning me.
To wit: I memo you now from the freshly christened meg of ‘OakCity’, capital of the newly sovereign state of ‘Wobbly’. Oh, how I wish I were joking. The tickertape parade has only just concluded. Scads of loo-paper, an item as yet unfamiliar in its customary use to Parkers, still clogs ‘Grand Oak Boulevard’ (formerly West State Street). The Parker throngs lined the way to cheer on The Great Man as he and his retinue of rugged mountain rebels glided by. They were perched high atop gigantic military lorries, making a slow and stately motorcade toward their new seat of power: ‘The Gold Butte’ (erstwhile The Pyramid). In phalanxes behind them marched the lately commissioned ‘Oak Guards’, misters smartly clutched to chests. On the steps of The Gold Butte, our ‘Grand Pooh-Bah of Wobbly’ (I jest not) delivered his inaugural oration to the nation livestream over MarketSquare. In the rambling bombast, he promised ‘my fellow Parkers’ the moon and the stars. Nodding and posturing behind him, likewise dressed in ostentatious paramilitary regalia involving too many insignia and feathers, was the brain trust of the new nation: ‘Wrangle Minister’ Jiplap Ball and ‘Grub Minister’ Happymeal Straw. (One assumes Defense and Logistics.) If not for the buckets of blood on the hands of these three leading men, their carnival atmosphere could amuse.
The frenzy killing that has taken place is impossible to wrap into words. Lynching. Tar-and-feathering. Riding-the-rail. Dunking. Stoning. Organized ‘Crat Shoots’ akin to firing squads—only with colored ribbons for prizes. I could list many more means of slaughter. Of course, the new mob favorite is the minimister up the nose, made popular by none other than our Pooh-Bah himself. Words indeed fail.
We were able to curtail somewhat, after the initial battle was over, the activities of the rape gangs. The visual of an amputated bangbone—or two or three—feeding over WobblyNet can have a marked effect. Our other marginal success was the preservation, for the most part, of the Terd population south of the river. Without Cardinal’s vigilance, however, and, needless to say, the advanced weaponry of our newfound ArcAir allies from Mountain Home, I am quite sure the Servs gleefully would have annihilated every living soul within the Gater District. Such was their wrath. On this matter, I have heard the commanding AirColonel of the ArcAir Base remark rather casually, ‘Can’t say that I blame them’. His reaction is flabbergasting to me. Whatever hooks and triggers Brand effected in her ‘Best of All Possible Worlds’ spots, they have converted wholesale the ArcAir Terds. Their previous guilt-hate of Servs has been replaced with an unvarying guilt-sympathy toward the downtrodden. We’ve even shown these spots, strictly on a voluntary basis, to a number of Terds in the Gater District. To people, mind you, who only serendipitously survived the onslaught and inevitably lost loved ones in it. Astoundingly, they too are willing to forgive the Servs their rampage. Clearly, in these ads we possess a Signification weapon of tangible power. If we were able to feed these ads to the entire Terd population of TexArc, one wonders if we could sever the long-standing Crat-Terd coalition that’s imperative to the operation of Corpfeud. Perhaps so. Might then a Terd-Serv realignment bring about the collapse of TexArc as an aggressor corporate state? Arguably, it could. These are lofty ambitions, to be sure, and possibly pipedreams. Yet one hopes.
Two caveats, however. Caveat One: has a genuine solidarity between the laboring and the technical classes been established by these spots of Brand’s? I would have to say decidedly not. I see scant evidence of such unanimity on either side, and particularly not from the point of view of Servs. Their brutalization by authority has been so prolonged and thorough that I fear they can conceive of no other way for authority to be. Even with their minds now free of the disciplining Simulacrum, the lessons of subjection have been deeply set. They have wholly internalized their oppressor. No amount of folksy Wobbly slogans can soon reach down far enough to scour those away. To this point I have witnessed Servs meeting power only with more power. I anticipate that trend to intensify, no matter what I attempt to alter it. Caveat Two: as for the Terds, so far as I can tell, a toggle in them merely has been flipped. They show no deep sympathy or connection with their Serv sisters and brothers. Just a mechanic compliance to team with them. What this all means is that were we to be successful in feeding Brand’s adverts to enough Terds to bring about real political upset in TexArc, we will not likely be paxrevolutionizing this nation. Rather, we will be unleashing only a competing form of social primitivism and techno-cultural mind-bind, one bound to plunge this continent into a different form of turmoil for some time to come. Yet what choice have we? Ever rocks and hard places, eh, Madam and Sir?
Henceforward the status report you request.
The city is secured. The waters have subsided. Piles of bodies yet burn. Overhead ArcAir provides an illusion of protection. No one understands why TexArc has yet to obliterate us. It can only be a matter of time. Enron opines that Net always plays first with its food.
Our mission then, our sole purpose, now becomes feeding the ‘Best of All Possible Worlds’ adverts to Terds. That is, to as many as we operably can as quickly as we feasibly can. Mounting and streaming this potent all4s taste, though, will be no trivial business. I fear all depends on Brand. She holds the tech keys to our slicing deeper into the ArcNet stream. She can, we believe, show Sinalco how to knapsack along its masterfeed sigcast, how to penetrate far into the Simulacrum align so that we can deliver our messages. But she won’t. Or, rather, I theorize that Brand is somehow being prevented from giving us that key knowledge. I believe she has been diligently sensitized not to betray this hard information. She becomes physically petrified at the mere thought of divulging vital knowhow. In retrospect, this condition would explain much of her past behavior. Brand proved to be ever our reluctant guest in the wilderness area. The Wobbly cause never reached her mind nor touched her heart. Even our fruitful collaboration on the ‘Best’ spots struck me as appeasement verging on capitulation, not conversion leading to commitment. I see now that Brand likely was buying time. Hoping desperately for rescue. She was able to reveal to me some, but not all, of the soft tech of cognitive hooks and emotive triggers fixed into the upstatus, but only, I believe, as a means to protect the hard tech secrets of ArcNet. The experience must have been torture to her. At present, she is holed up in her old rooms in The Pyramid, refusing ever to come out. The massacres have terrified her further. All of this situation remains annoyingly a puzzle to me.
Yes, we certainly are aware of the option to subject Brand to her own ad. Perchance the ‘Best of All Possible Worlds’ experience will toggle something in her, as well, to join with the Wobbly movement. Cardinal is for it. I am slow to becoming quite so ruthless. Sinalco sternly warns us off such a move. She argues that cross-conditioning triggers could melt Brand, and thus we lose access forever to her deep tech knowledge. We three yet debate. We know we haven’t a luxury of time. In the meanwhile, Sinalco roguefeeds effectively the Wobbly message to other Servs in other megs of the IMS. She has managed even to worm her way out of our own corpent and into the neighboring PC, just a touch. That should be more than a little concerning to the corp TopCrats. We’ve decided that tomorrow Sinalco, Brand, and myself will relocate down to Mountain Home ArcAir Base. Protection is better there, as are the technical facilities to access the ArcNet stream. Cardinal and the other fighters will remain here in the meg. She does not want to abandon what she worked so hard to capture.
Lastly, to reply to the trivialities you asked after, Headminister:
No, Enron in fact has ceased his carnal relations with Sinalco, explaining only that he got ‘spooked’ by her. I am not sure what he means by that statement, but I can sympathize with its drift.
No, I most certainly have not taken up carnal relations with Enron, in spite of his continuing infatuation for me. Not that it is any of your business, Headminister, but I maintain stronger than ever my abstainant convictions that coitus is delirium and procreation dementia.
In response to your most peculiar question, yes, as a matter of fact, our coming into the Gater District has resulted in some welcome creature comforts. An actual bed to sleep in comes to mind. Likewise, Sinalco has addicted me, once more, to real coffee. It seems a great stash of it was discovered in the well-stocked kitchens of The Pyramid. These past few days, she brews a pot for me each morning and mid-afternoon. I drink it heartily. Sinalco promises to bring plenty with us in our move to Mountain Home, as well. As they say in TexArc, praise the lord. I suppose, then, that at present I am having something of a bourgeois moment of my own, Headminister, if that is what you were seeking to know. Enron complains the drink smells to him of old motor oil. For my part, I am glad for the caffeine jitters once more. They suit my nurture and our situation.
I will further update you both as I am able. Do not depend, in your decision-making, on more word coming from any of us. We are moment-to-moment here. Defend EVe with all you have, as shall we.
Mall, Signer of Signification Committee
**********
Her hindquarters in the air. A rockhard bangbone bayonetting her from behind. Long. Massive. Powerful and magnificent. Moaning, she turns to glimpse Oak over her shoulder. Plowing her, pounding her as she presents for his desire. Brand is sucked to his face. Those two locked in a passionate kiss, a tongue battle, deep and probing. Oak’s fingers roughly fondle Brand’s micro hooters, tugging hard on her nipple-rings. Then Brand breaks suddenly away. Meets her eyes. Comes slowly downward toward her. Face hovering above face. Eyes staring into eyes. They meld wet lips together, her tongue drawn deep into Brand’s fiery mouth...
Mall jolts upright in her bed. She’s mucky with tepid sweat. Queasy down low in her gut. Her temples pound like they want to explode.
Her temples.
She reaches up to find the device stretched across the top of her head. An iband. The separable variety. She snatches it off. Who the bloody hell could have slipped this onto her—
Oak.
She’s out of her room and pacing barefoot down the long corridor in an eyeblink. She barks at the locator to tell her the whereabouts of the Grand bleeding Pooh-Bah. The locater informs her that His Greatness is currently at rest in his Personal Penthouse, and that He has left strict orders not to be disturbed. Mall informs the locator to piss off. The EVens understand the interior workings of The Pyramid much better than do the Servs. Mall bypasses the code on an access-pad. She navigates along several narrow off-passages. She circumvents the ridiculous Oak Guards posted outside the Penthouse. She enters the former ExecSuite through a hidden side door. Inside, the room is expansive, palatial. For the sake of protecting its occupant, it’s located at the very core of The Pyramid. Mall finds Oak dwarfed lying naked on the huge triangular bed. His eyeballs are rolled back into his head. He’s twitching at every limb. His little stiffy is up hard in the air, looking like a gnarled carrot. She grabs his taut scrotum and stretches it under the serrated blade of her killknife, something Mall has made it a habit never to be without in TexArc. Oak jerks awake. A loud bellyfart sounds foully out the end of his feedtube.
“Fancy some very fresh Reagan Mountain oysters, my darling?”
“Don’t you never like anything?”
Not a spot of apology in his voice. Maddening. She lets go his gonads to hold up the iband.
“If you mean virtual rape, no. I don’t fancy it.”
Oak pulls the hair back off his forehead. Running ear-to-ear across the top of his frontal bone is the rough raised scar from his iband implant.
“Don’t I know it, sister.”
He hisses his last word nastily. His glassy-free eyes stare hard into hers. Mall grabs his cock, now lolling like a small kipper. She poises her knife under its base.
“One reason why I should not. One single reason.”
Oak grins yellow rat teeth. Shakes his head. Snorts out a chuckle.
“You never do ask about the early days, Mall. Back when we was first up against Sawtooth Fluid out in the wilderness area. All by ourselves. Back before your fancy bunch showed up wanting to run the show.”
With his cock still under the knife, Oak stretches back out comfortable on the bed. Puts his hands behind his head. Crosses his ankles.
“Let me tell ya, Mall. Them Hydrobiz bastards sure meant business. Yes, ma’am. They sure did. They gutted us like game and hung our carcasses off trees for the bears to have. They lined whole crews up against a wall and let fly. They wasn’t about to lose their waters. Hell, no. Way too much profit there to let that slip to a pack of shitubers.”
“If you’re seeking for sympathy—”
“Fuck sympathy, Mall. No such damn thing as sympathy. I’m looking for you to get your head out of your ass. Even before we started resisting ‘em, Sawtooth Fluid killed us by the bushel basket. No cause. No warning. You think I was the one come up with the idea of poking a minimister up a guy’s nose? Hell, no. Damn Sawtooth execs would do that to three or four of us a day during their lunch twohour. Just for fun. Just to keep us in line. Then one day a guy tried to do it to me. Well, that fella got my knife stuck up his nutsack before he could pull the trigger. That’s what started the Wobbly rebellion up in the mountains, Mall. Not us believing in or even understanding all that jabber you was feeding us about the Wobbly cause. It was just me being hard to kill. Then after sticking that yanking exec me not giving a shit if they did kill me. I wasn’t ever going back to obeying them fucks. That’s the real Wobbly way around here. Not all your fancy ideas. It’s us not giving a shit anymore. That’s the one damn lesson the Parks teaches to beat all.”
Mall drops Oak’s wank—which had started to harden again. She walks away from the bed to the middle of the suite. In frustration, she sighs and lets her head fall back. Above her, across the entire ceiling, is a live vidfeed of the stars and sky overhead. It streams to the suite from a fisheye lens affixed at the apex of The Pyramid. As is the case every night, gigantic orbiting space billboards glide overhead. Happening to be sailing by in the firmament at that moment is one for penis enlargement: ICBCâ.
“Oh, good god,” Mall mutters to herself, staring up at the huge, slow-moving InterContinental Ballistic Cock floating along. “What is the bloody use?”
“So bottom line is this, Mall. You and them other EVe bitches and them flyboys from Mountain Home need to clear out of OakCity. No two ways about it. No offense. We appreciate like hell what you done for us. But me and the boys agree we don’t need or want you here no more.”
Oak sits at the edge of the bed now, still buck naked. He swigs from a scotch bottle that’s come to hand. There’s an assortment of bottles of various alcohols sitting by his bedside. Mall can only laugh at him.
“Going it alone, are we? That’s a grand idea. Why? If I may ask.”
“All you Terds been poisoned too bad with the selfoblige of one kind or another. A man can’t trust that. And like I said, this is our fight. Nobody else’s. Like your Uncle Wobbly always told us, only the oppressed can free themselves. Right, Mall? Did I hear that one right?” Mall scoffs again, more at herself this time, though, than at Oak. “So I figure here’s where that rubber hits the road. From here on out we’ll be Wobblies on our own.”
Agitation and education are two such different undertakings. Mall always knew she was cutting explanatory corners. Alterity is not just a new suit of clothing you slip into one day. It’s a deep realization at which, one day, you arrive after a considerable intellectual journey. But she never dreamed things could progress this far with her Wobbly project, that one day there might be an actual need for conscientização. That’s why the Servs are underprepared now for its concepts. Unable to empathize with the very different kind of oppression that’s been undergone by the Terds. Still, Oak is likely, for the most part, to be correct in his estimation. Lower North American society probably is too inured to greed ever to recover. She’s thought so herself, many times. The tipping point came probably about a century ago. They’ve been living out their long neoliberal doom ever since—and in the process taking everybody else on the bloody planet with them.
“Sod it. Fine then, your Greatness. We will get out of your hair. Some of us are traveling down to Mountain Home in the morning anyway.”
“You be sure to leave the scrawny dykebitch here with us. She’s gonna be needed for the good fight.”
“How so? To rape some more, virtual or otherwise?”
“None of that’s any of your concern now, Mall.”
“Like fun it’s not, Grand Pooh-Bah. Brand is coming along with me.”
“My Guards can stop you easy, you know.”
“You have the air support for that, do you, your Worship?”
Oak swigs more scotch. The last of it, as it turns out. He tosses the bottle casually aside.
“Fuck it. Take that twig of a twat along with you if you like. I don’t give two yanks. It’ll be nice just to see the backs of all you damned dykebitches.”
“Well, just so you know, Cardinal and her fighters plan to be staying on in the meg. They’re not about to abandon these Gaters to you and your bloody Guard.”
“The hell they are.”
“Gosh. No longer my concern—is it now, Pooh-Bah?” Mall heads for the hidden side door. As she goes, she flings the iband across the ExecSuite. “You are now the one-and-only face of the Wobbly cause. So you can deal with all the shit on your own. Free yourselves wisely.” She pauses before pushing her way back out the door. “One bit of advice, though, my Lord. Pay good attention to your uncle. He will save you from yourself.”
“Uncle Wobbly ain’t even real,” Oak snorts. “You cooked that old fart up to suck us into helping you whomp the Crats.”
“I’m talking about your real uncle.”
“Enron? Fuck.” Oak snorts again. “He’s damn gone to shit. You turned him pussy. Then he got himself all hexed up by that spooky-as-hell Sinalco bitch of yours.” Oak’s twisting off the cap of another bottle of expensive drink. “Nah. Uncle En just ain’t from around here anymore.”
“Hence my recommendation.”
**********
The instant she closes the side door to the ExecSuite, Mall races the back passageways to Brand’s room. She enters and code-locks the door behind her.
“Brand, darling,” she whispers in the dark. “Where are you?”
Then she remembers. Bugger. Brand has rarely emerged these last few days. Mall swipes the summons pad on Brand’s thinscreen. The island jingle starts to play.
“Come,” says a voice out of nowhere.
Mall steps into digiland. A coral crescent atoll cupping a jade lagoon. Gull cries. Small waves splashing in off a wide turquoise sea. Grainy white sand is suddenly between her toes and massive palm leaves sway overhead. Brand hovers prone in her relaxer, looking half dead. At least she wears no garish bodyenhance avatar. That might be taken as a positive sign. Mall certainly has seen no others in Brand these past several days.
“Are you here to fuck me or to kill me?” Brand asks.
“Neither, darling.”
“Too bad. Either would be fine.”
“You enjoyed our little sexual escapade with Oak?”
“At least he imaged himself up a nice, big crank. That was enjoyable. And he didn’t look like himself. That was crucial.”
“You have simple tastes, darling.”
Brand manages a smile. “You were really hot, too,” she says. “I enjoyed that.”
“Virtual rape doesn’t feel a violation to you?”
“Virsex is just virsex. It means nothing. It’s not really anything. That’s the point. That’s why it’s the only kind of sex I have.”
“You’ve never had actual intercourse?”
“Sure I have. But not for years and years now. Having real sex is crazy dangerous. It’s insane to take all those risks—both social and medical.”
Mall finds herself nodding. She had no idea. But they’ve no time for this intriguing discussion.
“Come on. We’re leaving. Right this minute.”
“I’m just fine where I am.”
“No, darling. You don’t understand me. I don’t mean merely stepping off your little island fantasy paradise. I mean leaving The Pyramid. Getting out of BoiCity entirely. We must.”
Brand curls into a ball. Crosses her arms closely over her chest. Shakes her head stubbornly.
“No. I’m never setting foot outside of a fucking Pyramid again.” Her voice is lonely and desperate. “You lied to me. Those Servs out there are bloodthirsty assholes. Fucking animals. They need to be put down. All of them.”
“Many of them are behaving very badly at the moment, yes, I know. I will grant you that. But this is equally your hooks and triggers talking. Isn’t it, darling? Your conditioned phobia against the Servs. You know that it is.”
“I know it is. But that doesn’t keep it from being really fucking real to me, Mall. I mean really fucking real.”
“Of course it does. Proper signification work always sets one foot in actual circumstances. That way trust gets established with your viewer. That way prophesies seem to self-fulfill. But, as signers, you and I know better. Don’t we?”
Brand makes an effort, after a moment, to relax her body. She takes some deep breaths. Manages to half straighten out her legs. She’s well aware how she’s a wretched reality trapped inside a blissful virtuality. Once she’s calmed a bit, she asks, “Where are you taking me?”
“Mountain Home. We’ll all be safer there, both from the ludicrous ‘Oak Guard’ and from the reprisals of TexArc. I’ve alerted Sinalco. She’s making arrangements right now. Then she’s on her way here to fetch us.”
Brand has coiled back into a ball of slender limbs.
“You’re going to force me to taste my own ad. Aren’t you?” A panic is in her voice now. A genuine one. “You’re going to retrigger me to love these savage fucks. Aren’t you? Just like we did to all those ArcAir Terds.” Her face buries in her chest. Her words muffle. “That’s your fucked-up plan. Isn’t it?”
“If it had been up to Cardinal, yes. But we would have already done that a few days ago. You know we haven’t time to mess about. However, Sinalco has been adamantly against the idea from the start. I’m not entirely sure why, but she has. She’s been the one preventing it.”
“And you?”
“To be honest with you, darling, I’ve been something on the fence about it.”
“You just want the deep codes. You want acute align into the Simulacrum.”
“Yes. Of course we do. It could be our means to stopping the Crat tyranny.”
“So the new tyranny can take over? The one outside you created to take its place? The fucking Wobbly tyranny?”
There’s no time for this back-and-forth. But Mall does not want to be smuggling an unwilling evacuee. Their exit from the meg will be difficult enough.
“That’s a very fair point, darling. The situation right now is very far from ideal. I’ve not handled everything well or properly. Still, where only you are concerned, you’re all emotive trigger at the moment due to a deeply placed cognitive hook they have in you. Yeah? You know that’s true. So what I’m going to do right now is try to break that hook. All right? Just so it’s gone—or at least less potent—and you can think through matters more clearly on your own. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, love?”
Brand finally nods.
“Good. You remember, then, my mention to you, a long time ago now, of the splitting of the summit?”
“Yes.”
“And do you know what that is, what that means?”
“Fuck, no. After all that fucked-up time out in the wilderness area, and now after destroying this fucking meg, I still have no idea what the fuck you mean by that.”
“Why have I never explained it to you, darling? You’ve asked me to at least a dozen times. More, likely. Why won’t I just tell you?”
“Because, I’m supposing now, to de-hook me I’ve got to figure it out for my fucking self.”
“Precisely. But it is not an easy or painless concept to grasp. Just a vital one. One I’d hoped you see on your own, eventually.”
“Sorry I’m such a dumbfuck. I guess I was too fucking petrified every day, you know, about being ripped to shreds by your fucking Parker buddies to figure this shit out. It’s kind of hard to think deep thoughts when you’re being terrorized.”
“Exactly what TexArc counts on.”
Brand blinks. She goes still. Mall lets her be. The waves flop in. The gulls cry out. The lazy breezes stir the palms.
“You know I know,” Brand says finally.
“Of course you do, darling. How could you not?”
“I’ve just not wanted to acknowledge it,” Brand explains. “I’ve been too afraid.”
“I understand completely.”
After a few more moments, Brand almost recites: “It’s basic binary opposition. Modern so-called democracies hinge on one in particular. The illusion of two oppositional political factions that are, in fact, one in the same. Just interchangeable halves of the single hegemonic group. In effect, then, splitting the summit.”
As Brand speaks, her body increasingly relaxes. Like an intellectual exhale.
“And?”
“And, like all binaries, it’s a false binary. One designed to exclude supplement. To forestall other ways of thinking. Other approaches to social organization.”
Brand uncoils somewhat more.
“The predicament being?”
“The predicament being citizens are both in the dark and intimidated. Too ignorant or too scared—or too both—to attempt even minor modifications to the fundamental system. Any foundational challenge to the status quo is shouted down as blasphemy and prosecuted as treason.”
Brand sits up and, matter-of-factly, swings her legs off the relaxer. Plants her feet in the sand. Stands up.
“Better?” Mall asks.
Brand nods. “So it’s not a matter of my being companyman or my resisting being companyman. Is it? It’s a matter of my getting rid of the company.”
“And the key to such hegemonic alteration?”
Brand states the obvious: “In my case, who gets to feed Terds what.”
“Indeed so, my darling.”
Sinalco steps suddenly onto the island. She is colossally topless. Down below she wears an ultranarrow shockneon pink thong. A topknot blond ponytail cascades her bosom. Heavy musk atmospherics now cloy the air. She removes her chic darkglasses to peer at them with luminescent sapphire eyes.
“We go now?” she asks perkily.
**********
Vieworld steaming upleft corpwide panfeed allnets. Majestic sweepviews, inspiring leadmusic.
<<Wherever you go, there we are!>>
<<More ‘you-decide’ breakingnews!>>
<<See the world, be the world!>>
The talkheads appear. Stiff, grinning, perfect like adverbots.
<<The newsbig of the day! Live exclusive coverage of Our Bossman’s big climb to the top! We align you now to our topcorp correspondent, Cabbage Patch, direct on the scene in— [loud and forced guffaw] golly, is that a hoverer I see you’re in, Cabbage?!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to correspondent] You bet it is, Trend! I’m hovering high above majestic Yosemite Corporate Park, where The Man himself is undertaking an historic powerclimb up the rugged and vertical rockface known as El Capital, one of the world’s largest monoliths and one of our grandest corporate treasures! [vidcut to live vid of lanky man in a spandex suit gaining hand- and footholds up a sheer cliff at a rapid pace; he is assisted by no ropes or climbing gear of any kind; just a small chalk-bag is clipped around his waist; Sierra Nevada Mountains are majestic in the background] Let’s see if we can get a Vieworld exclusive interview! Mr. Ceo! Oh, Mr. Ceo!>>
<<Why, hello, Cabbage! [huge sweat-beaded face of Bleached Wheat abruptly fills the screen; intense blueice irises without a touch of the glassy; features sharp like a cleaver] How are you?!>>
<<Well, from safe inside my Vieworld hoverer here, sir, I’d say I’m doing just fine! [interviewer and interviewee share a loud and forced guffaw] But what about you, Mr. Ceo?! Why is it you’re putting yourself on the line like this?! Pitting yourself against 2000 meters of unforgiving stone?! Attempting a free solo, sub-three-hour powerclimb up El Capital?! This is one of the most challenging and—dare I point it out?—dangerous ascents in the world!>>
<<Great questions, Cabbage! You Vieworld guys always cut right to the chase! I’ll be perfectly frank with you, then! Today, Cabbage, I’m sending a message! A very important message that I want everyone in TexArc to hear! Everyone upstatus and everyone lowstatus! Everyone who can hear and see me right now, Cabbage! Everyone! [Bleached Wheat’s gaze somehow seems to fasten onto his viewers] You see, Cabbage, for me, climbing this mountain is a symbol! A symbol of our resolute corporate character! We are risk-takers, Cabbage, who watch out for number one! That’s what TexArc is all about! [vidcut to Cabbage nodding thoughtfully while Bleached Wheat continues to speak] I’m just one guy, Cabbage! One commensense joe climbing the mountain of our freemarket! Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary and I might fall to my death at any second! But, by golly, nobody is giving me a hand up, Cabbage! [vidcut back to Bleached Wheat; face looming larger than before; eyes glowing more hyper-real than before] No, sir! Nobody is there to catch me if I fall! No way! I’ve got more corpride and corpatriotism than that! I’m no whining libby loser, Cabbage! It’s all on me! [blueice eyes pulse on the next three words] Me! Me! Me! [long pause and stare into camera] And think about it, Cabbage! The mountain is the same for everybody! Right?! [quick shot-reverse-shot of Cabbage thinking about it] Fair competition is what we all face! Right?! We’re all in this alone! That means my pain is my gain! I keep what I win! What could be more simple and natural than that?! [vidcut to Cabbage, jaw set and nodding vigorously] So that’s all I’m trying to say with my climb here today, Cabbage! That’s my symbol! [vidcut back to Bleached Wheat] Just one man climbing one mountain! That’s how you create the greatest corporation on earth!>>
<<[vidcut to a grinning Cabbage] Wow! Mr. Ceo! I’ve got to say! Truer words! Truer words! You are an inspiration to us all! And I know I speak for everyone corpwide when I say, well, thank you for being you, sir! We are lucky to be living during the time of your great leadership! [shot-reverse-shot of a single pulse of blueice eyes] But tell me something, sir! I’ve got to ask the tough questions because, well, we at Vieworld ask the tough questions! Our viewers demand it! [vidcut to Bleached Wheat nodding his approval and listening attentively] Why you, Mr. Ceo? And why now?! Gosh, you’ve already made it to the top, sir! Why should you risk yourself by taking on this death-defying climb?!>>
<<That’s the perfect question, Cabbage! Gosh, you Vieworld guys are good! [big smile] It’s because, golly, that’s the whole point of corporation, I guess! Isn’t it?! We’ve all got to keep climbing all the time!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw] Golly! You are so right, sir! I never thought of it like that before! Even the Big Bossman never stops climbing to the top!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw] Now you’ve got the picture, Cab! Heck, that’s what fair competition in the freemarket is all about! Isn’t it?! Everybody’s got the same chance to rise and everybody’s got the same chance to fall! All the time! The scramble never stops! [interviewer and interviewee share a loud and forced guffaw] That’s what I meant when I said there’s no room up here for whiners, Cab! [shot-reverse-shot of being-enlightened Cab] That’s the whole secret to TexArc greatness! No wimps! No excuses! [trombone shot tighter and tighter on stonecold blueice eyes] If you make it in TexArc, it’s because of you! If you don’t make it in TexArc, it’s on you! Pure and simple as that, Cab! Just the way God wants it!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to nodding Cabbage] Amen to that, sir!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to toothy grinning Bleached Wheat] So just remember the old saying, Cabbage: Nobody watches out for number one like number one!>>
<<[vidcut to grinning Cabbage] Oh, I will, sir! And thank you, Mr. Ceo! Thank you for your time and for your inspiration! Enjoy the rest of your climb to the top, sir! And may God speed!>>
<<[vidcut to grinning Bleached Wheat] Gosh! Thank you so much, Cabbage! It’s always great to talk with you boys at Vieworld! [vidcut to live vid of lanky man continuing his speedclimb]>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to Cabbage] So there you have it, Trend! Excitement and education way up high on El Capital!>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to Trend back in studio] What could be more inspiring and enlightening than that, Cabbage?! Great job! Thanks! You be careful now getting yourself back down to earth! [loud and forced guffaw]>>
<<[loud and forced guffaw; vidcut to Cabbage] Ten-four, Trend! This is Cabbage Patch, reporting from beautiful Yosemite Corporate Park! Over and out!>>
Java shouts on set: “That’s a cut! We’re out!”
Bleached Wheat drops off the climbing wall. It’s half a meter down onto the thick mats. The bluescreen studio bustles back into activity. Java hands the big bossman a fresh towel.
“That was ice, sir. That hit all the cultural triggers doublechoice.”
Bleach Wheat towels his face impatiently. They’d misted him heavily to simulate sweat.
“Let’s fucking hope so. I hate doing this cultural shit.” He throws the towel onto the mats. “But we might need a shit-ton more of it before we’re clear of this mess.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Java,” he grabs a fistful of the young man’s chambray shirt, “not a fucking word of this to anyone. Got it? Not even to Yupcap.” He pulls Java closer and stares close-range at the trembling junior subceo. “No one needs to know about what we’re up to here. No one. It’s just you and me dealing with some deep corporate shit. Right?”
“Yes sir. Absolutely, sir.”
Wells and Fargo enter the studio at the far end, looking even more grim than usual. They start to pick their way over to the ceo. Bleached Wheat nods toward the pair and speaks conspiratorially with Java.
“And whatever you do, don’t breathe a word of this to these two frenzychrister assholes.” Java can’t conceal his grin. Just before the senior subceos get into earshot, Bleached Wheat adds, “Now go think up some more of this bullshit. I like what you’re doing so far.”
Java hurries off, noticeably excited. Wells and Fargo ignore him pushing past. Bleached Wheat speaks to the pair gruffly.
“You two fucking sunbeams managed to get the full picture yet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fucking and...?”
Fargo swallows hard. “Gone, sir. Both of them.”
“A goddamn meg and a goddamn ArcAir base?”
“Yes sir,” Wells confirms. “Both now in the hands of the so-called Wobblies.”
Bleached Wheat lets his head fall back. He stares at the ceiling. “How the hell do Parkers take over an ArcAir base? Explain that one to me.”
“That’s what’s got us the most worried, sir,” says Fargo. “Only tangible revoevo could accomplish that.”
“That dykebitch?”
“It’s got to be, sir,” confirms Wells. “There’s some evidence that they streamed some kind of taste to the ArcAirmen. Something that turned them.”
“Jesus fuck,” Bleached Wheat mutters to himself—but loud enough to make these holy joes cringe at the choice blasphemy.
It’s all an act, of course, for the benefit of the boneheads around him. Bleached Wheat is well aware that a strange taste somehow got fed to the Airmen at Mountain Home. There’s no other way for Terds to turn against corp. That’s why he’s got Java already streaming counteract—just in case that feed breaks containment and slices corpwide. He knew from the start this scheme of his would bring risk. Gambits work because they bring risk. But this taste is a serious monkey wrench thrown into his grand design. Honestly, he’s underestimated the EVens. He sees that now. He didn’t think they’d get anywhere near this far with their little insurgency. He’s still not sure how they’ve managed it. When he originally noticed their pathetic slice blindly probing ArcNet, he decided to let it in, knowing it would cause trouble. He let it into the IMS so the trouble would be isolated. He even enabled it initially to feed as an all4s, just to boost its effectiveness. To give it some legs. He wanted to foster their interest. It worked. They started to stream content. Their clandestine radical messaging. Their Uncle Wobbly. Stupid. Ridiculous. Then he dropped the two kill-squads into EVe. To make them think they were really onto something. That TexArc might be vulnerable. That move encouraged their foray—a desperate and lunatic reaction playing perfectly into his hands. Terrorist boots on TexArc ground? What could be more inciting than that? He let their submarine slip through. He let their little team trek to BoiCity. Set up camp in the Parks. He let them rouse their tiny bit of rabble. All plan. Staging for the dramatic reveal. The heroic crushing. How better to convince Terds and some giddy Crats of a credible threat? How better to make the case for preemptive strike? A gambit, yes, but one he’s kept well on top of—up until now. This damn feed of theirs. How did they construct it? How is it delivered? What’s their next move? That dykebitch certainly thinks she knows her way into the ArcNet deep align—but she doesn’t. Not really. Not to any degree he can’t firewall. So how the hell did they chink their way through to deliver the taste to the flyboy Terds? And if the EVens can do that, what the fuck else can they do?
“Sir? Sir?”
Fargo has been imploring him for several moments now. Bleached Wheat finally levels his head. Locks an annoyed gaze onto his senior subceo.
“Fucking what?”
“That’s not all, sir. They’ve started water withhold. The pipelines out from BoiCity have gone dry.”
“Shit.” This is actual news to Bleached Wheat. “How bad so far?”
“SaltCity went bone dry right away,” reports Wells. “Denver is on low reserves. Foenix already into emergency rationing procedures.”
“None of that’s fucking good.”
“No, sir. A day or two more and the entire IMS spine will be parch. The withhold is even starting to effect the northern PC. Portland is registering a mild shortage as a result of no supplemental flow coming out from BoiCity.”
“Fucking Dockers,” Bleached Wheat shakes his head in disgust. “What a poochscrew Crat. At least that numbskull is likely fucking dead.”
“Yes, sir,” confirms Fargo.
Oh, well. Bleached Wheat has pulled fat from fire plenty of times. This time will be no different. Handled correctly, he can still make this work. Make it work even more spectacularly than planned. A meg taken! An ArcAir Base overrun! Wild-eyed Parkers gone mad in the streets with Terror Propaganda poisoning their hearts and minds! He can hear it all on Vieworld now. Only he can’t fuck around anymore. He needs to close this deal before they do anything worse with that viral feed of theirs.
“All right,” Bleached Wheat lowers his voice. “It’s time for you two holyrollers to go on fucking crusade. Try not to come too hard in your TD temple garments.”
With forbearance in his voice, Wells asks, “What would you have us do, sir?”
“Start with a Stryker probe. I need to see what they’ve got. Go in on ground only.”
“Manned or unmanned, sir?” Fargo asks.
“Unmanned, you fucking idiot. We don’t want this shit getting out.”
“Should I have ArcGround on alert for a possible fall, sir?” asks Wells. “Just in case?”
“No. No Ground. And leave ArcAir out of it, too. We can’t trust the Terds in either branch now to stay companyman. Not until we figure out how that mindfuck taste works.”
Fargo looks to regain his strategic credibility. “What are we talking, then, sir, if the Strykers can’t do the job? Just ArcNet?”
Bleached Wheat decides to throw Fargo a bone. Just to keep him and Wells in the game for a little while longer.
“Yes. Exactly right. Just Netsmen.” He even nods approval at Fargo. “And then, if we have to pull out all the stops, we’ll bring in ArcSpace, too. What do you think, Wells?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
Wells does seem to be creaming his temple garments. Just a little bit. Fargo’s got his crusade boner raging, too. Bleached Wheat smiles at them both.
“Good. We’re agreed then, gentlemen. Only strak hooya Terds involved in this ops. Nobody that dykebitch can get her hands on.”
