Walter Greatshell - Apocalypse blues

"They killed them."

"Uh-huh. The second dome had just gone up, and all the military men decided enough was enough-they were going to march in and demand their rights. So they put on their dress uniforms, loaded their sidearms, and tried a show of force. But those automatic COIL weapons were already in place; there were not even any MPs to appeal to or intimidate. It lasted about two seconds. Not many under the dome even knew it happened."

"What happened?"

"Same as with your friend."

I had a horrible flash of Mr. DeLuca on the snowbank, just before… "I didn't really see that. It was too fast."

"It's a laser beam, like Star Wars. COIL stands for Chemical Oxygen-Iodine Laser. It's an anti-ballistic missile system, but it works just as good against people." Sounding awkward, he said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," I replied. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. We're all just killing time until the end, I guess."

"No, I mean I'm sorry, but you have to get up. It's time to go."

"Oh."

Helping me out of the truck, he said, "We call winter here the killing time. But just as summer follows winter, we believe there will be a new season for us. For all people. We are chosen to be witnesses to the fall, so that we may tell the story-it's a great responsibility. This means you, too. You carry within you the story of your people and must pass it on."

"That's a little hokey, I'm sorry."

"Why? What do you think's going to happen?"

"I think spring is going to come, and the Xombies will finish taking over the world. The Moguls will either fight it out to the end or turn themselves into a better class of Xombie. There won't be any more babies, and eventually it'll all just sputter out. That's fine. I don't even care anymore."

"What do you mean, turn themselves into Xombies?"

"They're all Xombie wannabes in there. Maybe it's the blue blood. They tried to make a race of supermen and got Xombies instead. They're still at it."

We entered a tented area between jumbo jets, and Mr. Utik led me through a series of insulating flaps to a security station humming with electric radiators. I was reminded of the sub, of its cheap power in the hands of these people. We had come cheap, too, I guess. Armed sentries dressed in commando garb stole lewd looks at me but were outwardly respectful… if not outright nervous. I wondered if they saw me as some kind of a threat. Not as a potential monster, but as an elite sex slave, a concubine with royal privilege. It was strange to think about.

Utik left me there without a word, and I wondered if he had been mocking or testing me, but our conversation was already unreal and fading fast. I didn't have the capacity for worry that I once had; it just sloughed off. I felt slow and stupid, and liked it that way.

I climbed an enclosed ramp and boarded the plane. It was not a 747, but it was close-a seven-something-seven. After the fancy carriage ride, I was expecting the Palace of Versailles, but the interior of the jet was more low-key-not exactly understated, but of a more contemporary splendor. There was a wide-open seating area like a sleek hotel bar, with earth-toned carpeting and furniture, and aqua lighting from banks of TV monitors. At the back, a softly lit hallway like a modern-art gallery led past smaller compartments. Out of this hall emerged a lithe-looking older man. He was dressed in a striped satin robe as shiny as those Christmas ribbon candies, and his bald head gleamed intermittently in the spotlights, implant-free. He looked like he had just stepped out of the shower.

My snap judgment was, Well, could be worse. I was shaking like a leaf.

As he approached, I could see that despite his age and slight limp, he was quite handsome, with chiseled features and the unthreatening demeanor of a man sharing a laugh at his own expense. My hackles went up: Pervert. He looked at me in the eager, expectant way of some forgotten acquaintance-an elementary-school teacher or distant uncle. And I did know him. Why was he so familiar?

"Hello, Lulu," he said, gravel-voiced. "Welcome."

It was Sandoval.

"Do you remember me? I know we were never properly introduced, but your father talked about you so much, I already feel like I know you. I'm Jim Sandoval."

"I remember you. Chairman Sandoval."

Actually I was trying hard to imagine what it could mean that he was here. All I really remembered of him was a gruff voice in the goat locker and that long-ago leap to the sub. The last time I had seen him was when he snubbed me going ashore. But I also dimly recalled that first night out on the deck, when he was surrounded by angry men-Fred Cowper chief among them-who seemed to think he was the reason we were locked out of the boat. He had betrayed them for SPAM. He was SPAM. I remember I had felt great empathy for Sandoval, not just because he was injured and helpless but because at the time I was being harassed by a hostile mob myself.

"I hope the ride wasn't too unpleasant," he said. "It's what passes for limousine service around here. Are you cold?"

"No."

"Really? I'm glad. You look spectacular." When I didn't reply, he said, "Lulu, nothing's going to happen. You don't have to be afraid of me. I know it's been… incredibly difficult, but that's all over. You're safe now."

"I've heard that before." I refused to meet his eyes.

"I'm just making clear my intentions. I'm not your lord; you are not my chattel. You are part of my household, yes, but that's only so you can be spared the unpleasantness that some other men might have visited upon you. The world is poor enough without that. Wherever you go here, you are under my protection, which merely means you will be left alone. I'll certainly never lay a hand on you without your consent. All I ask is that you honor me with your company on such occasions as I may request it, purely as a friend."

I must have been radiating cynicism and contempt. Smiling a little, he said, "Your doubts prove your character. I hope you'll give me a chance to prove mine."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Lulu, you've seen the other side. You've tested the waters. It's because you made a choice that you are here today, and I very much want you to succeed. To stay." He reached for my hand.

I recoiled as if from a striking cobra, more violently than I intended.

He backed off. "I know you're still in shock, but you have to understand that I do this out of caring, not because I want to torture you."

"No, just my friends!"

"That was not my doing. The domes have their own hierarchy-we have a strict hands-off policy out here to keep the peace. Otherwise… too many cooks, you know?"

"You all suck."

"Maybe so, but I'm your ticket out of there." He lit a slim black cigarette and offered me one. I declined. Savoring the smoke, he said, "Would your friends want you to throw away your chance at life? Weren't they willing to give up their lives to save yours? I'm sure you want to respect their wish."

"Their final wish. Just shut up-we both know what this is about."

"You're wrong. You want to know what it's about? Talk. A little innocent talk."

"Bullshit. Talk is cheap."

"That's where you're wrong. Talk is really all that matters, talk about real things. Believe me, I know. When you spend as much time in the realms of business and politics as I have, you learn the meaning of the term 'seats of power'-it's because they're full of the biggest asses on Earth! I'll tell you a secret: the Moguls? They're idiots."

"Yeah, and you're one of them."

"No I'm not. No I'm not. I didn't start out this way. I grew up in group homes and foster care, and never even knew who my father was until I received notice from a legal firm in Zurich that he had died."