Wicked Messenger by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 6
ESPERANZA, ARIZONA, 5-21-2058
In methodical steps, aided by dreams of home, Harry pieced much of his personal puzzle together. He was now convinced that he wasn’t an Earthling, but was reticent to publicly state that, as he correctly suspected such an announcement would be greeted with derision; or worse, nodding and politely smiling agreement.
In addition to dreams and inferences he was now reasonably certain that no Earthling had anything like a “silver bullet,”
but he didn’t think was particularly bright to bring up in conversation. He was also reticent to speak to the rocket transmitter, thinking that on the other end were likely the people who banished him to Earth and the less they knew about him the better. He suspected that he must have done something absolutely awful; like long term, serial addiction to the public dole and/or frequent dalliances with mind expanding drugs.
He resorted to his controller. He sat alone in his room and pushed buttons, planning on taking his time so as to evaluate each. He pushed the red one at the far right and got incensed.
He thought; “Why did this have to happen to me? This is cruel and very unusual punishment. I didn’t do anything worse than anyone else. At least I don’t think so. When I find out who was responsible for this, I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll ........... **** them up somehow. Having to sit here
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and listen to Grandpa’s bullshit stories. And that Becky; having the audacity to chastise me for having a little fun with my
‘silver bullet.’ Nine years old and making rules for adults. She thinks that cute little face makes her immune from a good smack.” He wrote in his pad; “Red is anger.”
He pushed the deep blue button on the left. He thought;
“What does anyone expect from me? I’m in a foreign land, don’t even know who I am and when I run out of cash I don’t know what to do. I’ll probably starve to death in the desert. Nobody will help. Sure, they’ll smile and offer best wishes, but that won’t get me a meal. What kind of jobs are there in this place? Family operated farms and rooming houses don’t need my skills. What skills? My ‘silver bullet?’ I can hold up people. And get what?
A life’s work of penny ante scores. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Just tell me what it was and I’ll never do it again.
Please, I promise.” He wrote; “Deep blue is depression.”
He pushed the medium green button in the middle. He thought; “It’s not so bad here. Becky and Grandpa are great. I have wads of cash and maybe my credit card has no limit and I can just stay here forever. Fine to whoever banished me. I really don’t want to see them either. I wish that jerk talking through the rocket would just leave me alone. Whatever he says is either retarded or dogmatic. Glad I’m here.” He wrote;
“Acceptance,” and left the button pushed in.
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Below the buttons was a white switch, the size of two fingers, stretching from one side of the controller to the other. Beneath it were the words; “LEFT BRAIN” on the left and
“RIGHT BRAIN” on the right. He thought that this was much too obvious and that the product manufacturer must have made it for those with no brain. He pushed the switch to the left and started to cry. He got a vague ominous feeling and worried that something terrible would happen to Becky and Grandpa. He thought; “I love them. Why does this have to be? It’s so ****
unfair.” Tears streamed down his cheeks and rather than risk explaining a crying fit to a surprise visitor, he pushed the switch to the right. He thought; “I can help them. I can also help myself. I just have to determine what is going on here and then I’ll easily find some way around it.” He liked this more confident approach and the tears subsided. However, he didn’t like the fact that now he felt he could handle things proficiently out of pride, not out of a love for his friends.
That feeling was gone. He tried to set the switch in the middle, but as soon as he let go it went to the right or left. The only way it could be centered was to hold it there, which wasn’t very conducive to simultaneously doing anything else. After several unsuccessful centering tries, he left the switch positioned to the right. He vowed to find the manufacturer and talk to him about putting a clutching gash in the center.
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His wrist became extremely hot and he scratched at it. The burning sensation became excruciating and he wet a towel and rubbed it over the area. He didn’t realize how hard he was scouring and wore away skin, revealing an implant. He knew a computer chip when he saw one and his first thoughts were that his experiments with button pushing must have produced speed capable of causing extreme heat and “I’m a robot! An android! A mere machine!” He was disturbed and felt as if he were something less than the others. The thought was a brief one before he got to; “So what if I am a robot? Everyone responds to programming whether they know it or not. Random conditioning. .............
Who made me? Don’t know. For what purpose? Don’t know. Why was I sent here? Don’t know. Do I have to do what my makers intended?
If I don’t know what they intended, I could accidentally do or not do their bidding. Do I have the ability to manage my thoughts and actions? ............... Whoooo, yes, within the limits of my controller.”
Harry retrieved a screwdriver from the vanity and went to work on the controller. He opened it and risked going completely haywire by tinkering with the inner workings, of which he knew nothing. He thought; “I’m not satisfied with the way I am, so what is there to lose? Unsatisfied is unsatisfied.” His work resulted in the simultaneous depression of the red, deep blue and medium green buttons and the central notched-with-the-edge-
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of-a-screwdriver balancing of the white switch, neither on left brain nor right brain. He thought; “Maybe I ****** up the entire thing. Maybe I had no effect at all. But, maybe, just maybe, I removed the limitations.” He was ready to go on ALL cylinders.
He burst through the closed door with the determination of Michael Jordan.
He stopped in the hall and thought; “Go where?” He stood there taking in the photo of Monument Valley. The sand was primary; severely sun-bleached red, perhaps with some yellow, resulting in the seemingly infinite supply of ruddy particles.
Upon closer inspection he saw that this “photograph” was not a photograph at all. It had texture; he could feel it and did; an unsigned “realist” painting; assuming the artist did not take liberties. And if he did, so what? That would be just something for the technicians to debate; photo realist painting or photo-fantasy-masquerading-as-photo-realist painting. It is what it is; it looks as it looks; and the result was beautiful. The stratified sandstone buttes were magnificent and enormous. The thousand foot, flat topped mounts, some with sky piercing spires, boasted of their immunity to time, displaying a faded red hue with a clearly defined condescension to blue-gray.
Actually the red tarnishing was performed by the incessant sun and intermittent windstorms, mixing in shades of blue, too faded to suggest the original. Despite unrelenting, ageless attack,
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they were unmovable in their views, though each radiated from a differing point. They were unmistakably devoid of any evidence of the plunder of humans, aliens, androids or mixtures. Harry thought; “The artist was an idealist.”
A voice ended his reverie. He heard Becky talking. He went to and stood at her open door. She was staring at the rocket and he heard her playfully say; “How stupid are you?” She laughed and added; “Dumb question. Stupid people don’t know that they are stupid.” She turned and said; “Oh, hi Harry. I really like the rocket. It makes me laugh. It’s been telling me that things are a mess in Eli. I think that’s someplace in Utah. Anyway, the military is maneuvering for control of the mission, and when I asked him if that was something like a church, he got all mad and everything, insisting that I get Joshua. I told him that I didn’t know any Joshua and that he keeps calling the wrong number. Those religious people can get so serious sometimes.
Come to think of it I don’t know of any stories in which Jesus laughed. When I asked him he told me that his name was Crow Nose Titan Bee. Can you imagine a name like that? I asked him if Bee was his last name and was he an American Indian. They’re the only ones with names anything like that that I’ve heard of.”
The rocket demanded; “Put Joshua on the line.”
Harry now had more pieces of his puzzle, but thought that he needed more information, and didn’t want to reveal what he
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knew for a variety of reasons. Crow Nose might be a cop looking for him. This could be some kind of trick. He didn’t want to say that he was something other than human in front of Becky and whoever else might be listening. And he didn’t want to be the butt of the joke. He decided that he would attempt to handle the situation by being the one who would do the questioning.
He said; “This is Harry. Who are you?”
A tired voice said; “Cronos Titanby.”
“And what is it you want?”
“Joshua. .......... You sound a lot like him. What’s going on?”
“Nothing except that some misinformed person keeps calling here with ridiculous messages.” Harry spoke in a childish voice and added; “Okay, okay. Let’s make believe that I know where Joshua is. What message do you want me to give him?”
Cronos audibly sighed and said; “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Joshua. Have you switched sides?”
Harry thought that the messages were either coming from a nut, a person with nothing to do or an android from another planet. He leaned toward the latter possibility because of his chip discovery and his awareness of the fact that Earth communications were adequate to pinpoint the location of a call, discouraging an Earthly nut. He said; “I’m not Joshua. I do not
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know any Joshua. What kind of “sides” are there? Maybe I’ll join one.” He smiled at Becky who briefly and politely grinned.
“This is getting so tedious. ........ I’m sick of this game. If you do not properly perform your mission, Eli’s existence is imperiled, your life may be in danger and most importantly, I might be out of a job.”
“Who is Eli?”
Cronos hung up in frustration.
Becky said; “Where is Eli? Not who.”
“Who? Where? What? How? When? Why? I don’t know. I have trouble with the small stuff. Like my name and inquisitive little girls.” He used both hands to tickle Becky’s sides, and cackling, they ran out the front door to see Grandpa in his favorite porch seat.
He joined him and Harry said; “Grandpa, do they have androids here?”
Grandpa fluttered his sleepy eyes watching Becky run toward the desert. He said; “What a question. What exactly do you mean by android? We’ve been computer enhanced for more than a century now.”
“Something resembling a person which is actually controlled by a computer program.”
“They’re all over the place now.”
Harry was startled and the look on his face showed it.
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Grandpa laughed and added; “Of course they don’t consider themselves androids and they are not called that in polite company. We’ve been politically correct for a long time and to say android would be like saying nigger. You’re not from here, are you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Where are you from?”
“Eli?”
Grandpa leaned over and playfully whispered; “Harry. If I were you I wouldn’t say that to anyone else.”
“I’m not going to. But, I trust you. Besides, by my questions, and the things that voice in the rocket say, you probably can tell that something out of the ordinary is going on.”
Grandpa looked at the gray painted, planked wood flooring of the porch and spit, just clearing it.
Harry said; “Look at this,” simultaneously extending his left arm, from which the imbedded chip still protruded. “Do humans have anything like this?”
“No, sir. At least not yet. ............. Up until now they’ve been content to carry their chips around in their pockets. Do you have any idea how expensive surgery has become?
I think that’s the only thing that prevents it.”
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“I like you. I like Becky. I like the whole family. So, I want to be straight with you. I got amnesia, but I’m starting to piece things together. I’m pretty sure my name is Joshua and that I come from Eli, wherever that is. I think that I was sent here either because I did something terrible there, because I’m on some kind of mission or both. I’ve got a weapon the likes of which doesn’t exist on Earth.” He took out his “silver bullet,”
and zapped a prickly pear fifty feet away. He laughed and continued; “Becky would kill me if she saw that. I want you to know all of this as I want you to think for me. It might be better for your family if I go away, as I might next find out that I’m some sort of programmed killer. That voice says my life may be in jeopardy.”
Grandpa said; “Can I see that thing?”
Harry-Joshua handed it to him. Grandpa aimed it at some cholla ten feet from the porch and pushed the button, obliterating the entire group. He gave the “silver bullet” back to H-J, saying; “I never did like those God ****** things. Stuck the hell out of me once when I slipped into them. Don’t tell anybody.”
H-J put a finger over his lips and nodded.
Grandpa sighed and said; “I wish you would have asked an easier question. Nobody’s ever had to deal with anything like this. Can you find out what your mission is?”
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“I’ve been trying to make that voice in the rocket think that Joshua is not here, just in case he’s an escaped criminal, perhaps political, so that no one is sent after me.”
“Son, you’ve got one hell of a dilemma. Don’t try to pawn it off on me. The way I figure it is that if you were sent here to kill us you could have done that already. If you’ve forgotten that you were sent here to kill us and you go away, when you remember you’ll just come back and do it. And if it’s not you it will be some other android.”
As she came back into view they watched Becky chase a rabbit. Grandpa said; “To avoid any unwanted attention let’s keep your name at Harry. Joshua will be our secret.”
Harry went back to his room and mulled things over. He thought; “Whether I’m a human, an alien or an android, life here is complicated for me as I don’t know the place. Wouldn’t the plain truth restore simplicity? No, it would cause more problems and I really am not sure of what the truth is. Maybe there isn’t one plain unvarnished truth. Maybe it comes in layers, like layer one works for some people, but layer two would cause them problems, on and on like peeling an onion. Has any human, alien or android ever gotten to the core? I know I have to do something like that. But, no matter what, I will never be responsible for hurting Becky or Grandpa. I swear it.” He
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checked his controller to see that all the buttons were pushed and the switch was balanced.
“My best guess is that I’m some kind of android, not from here. According to facetious Grandpa the Earth androids don’t yet have implants. So where and what is Eli?”
He researched the internet to find that Eli either had some tie to a vague concept of God or was a word used in a failed action movie which was essentially “Mad Max,” eighty years too late. My mission? Try to find out about the mission from Crow Nose without divulging anything. Maybe I’m important. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been given it. Unless there are others. Maybe they just want me to think I’m important, which is really very unlikely, so they can make me disclose my whereabouts. I have to find out what they need and play off that.
ELI, 6-6-98476. 6-6-2058 EARTH CALENDAR
Three anxious weeks went by. The worries created subsidiary problems. It had finally sunk in that Eli’s were facing a real death situation. Initially many heard the words but merely took them as an excuse to let things rip and have a good time. With time to contemplate non-existence, possible on any day, depending on the source, Elis looked to the government for answers that couldn’t be provided, even if that government cared to try to provide them.
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“Darkies” were particularly concerned about the protocol for their possible departure. Rightly fearful that the favored
“Sunnies” would get the first berths they worried that they would be left to die in the cold dark on Eli, without the resources or technology to build an escape ship, and that those who survived the freeze would then die a miserable dismembering death by getting sucked into the black hole. After the first rowdy “Darkie” demonstration was located in “Sunny” territory, Zeus furiously called “Darkie” Premier Thomas Bungalowry.
“Get this **** on your side of the horizon now!”
“The people have a legitimate complaint and their lives are at stake.”
“That’s very high handed thing for a bought and sold traitor to say.”
“.............................”
“If you can’t fix this YOU will be the last one out of here, or maybe we’ll leave you here to count your coins.”
“What am I supposed to tell them?”
“This is what you’re paid for Tom. Do I have to do your job for you?”
“......................................”
“How big an idiot are you? Tell them anything that sounds equitable. It can always be rescinded due to unforeseen circumstances discovered later.” Zeus hung up.
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Tom went on TV and told his people not to worry and to curtail the rancorous demonstrations as the youngest will be first to go. He said that was an eminently fair system based solely on birth dates and that he got that approved by the Sunny government. While there was a modicum of grumbling from parents afraid of being separated from their kids, this approach was overwhelmingly acceptable to a people who were accustomed to always being on the short end of the stick. Manufacturers of bogus birth certificates proliferated.
However, when this news was heard on the “Sunny” side of the street, the Association of Senior Sunnies (ASS) interpreted this to be discrimination based on age. When their lawyers entreaties to the Sunny government were ignored they searched for where this was written and under whose authority, so that they could determine who to sue or enjoin. While this activity inspired joking witticisms on the non-senior Sunny side, it opened more “Darkie” questions about limited authority being an excuse to renege.
When Tom felt that he could no longer ignore a growing threat, he went on TV and told the people; “Zeus said so. There is no higher authority,” and flashed a phony document.
Zeus was pleased and raised his opinion of Tom. The ASS
lawyers did their customary task of confusing everyone, and in doing their best, again managed to invoke general disinterest,
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to the point where raising the now very wearisome and arcane issue could get one punched, even in polite company.
Cronos worried for his job, but what could he do? As instructed by a stern Zeus, though that was not the determining factor, he called no more impromptu news conferences as he had previously shot his wad. The other rulers did likewise as they saw nothing to be personally gained.
Mr. Titanby called Earth two or three time daily, depending on his Maalox supply. His cagey approach suggested by his fear of divulging the invasion plan to an Earthling matched Joshua-Harry’s cagey approach suggested by his fear of becoming a located criminal and no meaningful information was discovered by either.
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