Authors: Walter Greatshell
Mad Skills (32 page)
Manfred Strode had been sentenced to death … and executed!
Holy crap,
Maddy thought. Strode was dead! Dead and rehabilitated. Damned to Hell and reincarnated as a social worker.
Maddy thought. Strode was dead! Dead and rehabilitated. Damned to Hell and reincarnated as a social worker.
“How ’bout cake decorating?” he said. “We’ve got a number of decorating jobs, from pastry finishers to window dressers to interior design, all entry-level but with full health coverage and excellent chance for advancement.”
“Cake decorating?” Maddy said, jarred from her daze. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. Or you could go into the fast-growing field of health care. All kinds of paid internships available, from nursing assistants to neurosurgeons. Accelerated training program for qualified candidates—that’s you. You could be working your way toward a college degree. Earn your PhD in as little as three months!”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right.
Ooh
, here’s something: How ’bout the security business? Guards, bodyguards, investigators, force protection? No? From what I understand, you have quite a talent for cloak-and-dagger stuff; this would put you in league with the big boys.”
Ooh
, here’s something: How ’bout the security business? Guards, bodyguards, investigators, force protection? No? From what I understand, you have quite a talent for cloak-and-dagger stuff; this would put you in league with the big boys.”
“You’re seriously asking me if I want to be a hired thug? A mercenary?”
“No! An
asset
. A chance to serve your country. These are all government contract positions, designated GS-12 or above. Free housing, travel, paid vacations, matching retirement fund. You’re eager to travel, right? Well, here’s your chance.”
asset
. A chance to serve your country. These are all government contract positions, designated GS-12 or above. Free housing, travel, paid vacations, matching retirement fund. You’re eager to travel, right? Well, here’s your chance.”
“Forget it.”
“Retail sales?”
“No.”
“Well, then I don’t have much to offer except the labor pool.”
“Labor pool?”
“It’s the on-call labor force—the unskilled workers. All the folks who do whatever needs to be done around town: general construction, painting, digging ditches, and so on. Not something I’d really recommend to someone like yourself.”
“Why not? Because I’m a girl?”
“No. Well, yes … but it’s also a waste of your potential.”
“Good. Sign me up.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m talking manual labor. Outdoors, in all kinds of weather.”
“I understand.”
“Okay … if you’re sure …”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, remember, you can always change your mind. But I can’t guarantee these other jobs will still be available.”
“That’s fine.”
“All right, then. All you have to do is call this number every day at 5 a.m. to receive that day’s work assignment. Then you just show up and punch your time card.”
“I got it. Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly, shoot.”
“I thought you won.”
“Won … ?” The man was drawing a complete blank.
“The election.”
“Oh! The election, yes. Yes, I won my seat. Actually, it’s my second term.”
“Term as what?”
“Mayor. I’m the mayor of Harmony. Among other duties.”
“Congratulations. So I guess you have me to thank for that.”
“Oh? How so?”
Maddy intended to reply,
I murdered your opponent, jackass
, but Strode’s look was so dumb and guileless that she said, “Nothing—never mind.”
I murdered your opponent, jackass
, but Strode’s look was so dumb and guileless that she said, “Nothing—never mind.”
THIRTY-FOUR
WORK
SHE worked.
There was not much to it. Every morning she called a number and was told where to show up. Usually it was the big parking lot behind the Visitor’s Center, where the different crews milled around in the dark and cold until a bus arrived to take them to their various work assignments.
For the first couple of days, Ben was there, too, deprived of his wheels. Maddy felt bad about that, but not bad enough that she could bring herself to talk to him. When he tried talking to her, to ask how she was doing, she replied,
I’m fine
, and turned him off like a light switch. After that, he didn’t come over again. Then she stopped seeing him at all—they were assigned different duty shifts. Maddy wondered if he had specifically asked to be changed, just to avoid her.
I’m fine
, and turned him off like a light switch. After that, he didn’t come over again. Then she stopped seeing him at all—they were assigned different duty shifts. Maddy wondered if he had specifically asked to be changed, just to avoid her.
A couple of days a week she would meet Lakisha for lunch, and they would talk about their respective experiences. Maddy talked the most: This was her first chance to express her fears of being a human lab rat, or to ask one of her fellow rodents how they felt about it. But she didn’t learn much.
Lakisha was practically born yesterday. Everything in Harmony was new and exciting to her, a brave new world. What Maddy didn’t understand was how she could already be so well versed in the trappings of trend-savvy young womanhood.
“So how did you learn to look and act so normal?” Maddy asked, munching stuffed grape leaves. “You seem so together.”
“It’s the implant. It lays out the pattern, and I just play connect-the-dots. I can’t believe it myself! You say normal, but for me it doesn’t feel normal at all—it feels incredibly exotic to fit in with these amazing superbeings that I’ve looked up to all my life. I feel like somebody handed me the keys to Camelot, and I’m just kind of sitting at the table, taking it all in.”
“Wow, that must be … interesting. My experience has kinda been the exact opposite.” Maddy felt momentarily guilty about her own bitter skepticism.
“I know. I wish you could see it the way I do. Just getting dressed in the morning is so awesome, and
shopping
—forget it. I love clothes! You know I was always into dress-up, because I thought that was part of the secret of being normal. And it totally is! But it’s so much better now that I can really comprehend all the little nuances of fashion.”
shopping
—forget it. I love clothes! You know I was always into dress-up, because I thought that was part of the secret of being normal. And it totally is! But it’s so much better now that I can really comprehend all the little nuances of fashion.”
“I guess. You sure that’s a good thing?”
“Are you kidding? I love it! I just wish my friend Stephanie could see me now.”
“Stephanie?”
“Yeah, in junior high, I used to hang out at the mall all the time with this girl Stephanie. She loved shopping, man.”
Maddy blinked, trying to make sense of the coincidence. “You had a friend named Stephanie?”
“Yeah! Why, did you know her?”
“No,” Maddy said. “I must be thinking of somebody else.”
AS the days went by, Maddy fell into the routines of working, eating, sleeping, bathing, laundry. When she got her first week’s pay, it came as a bit of a surprise—she had forgotten about this part of it. Depositing the check, she made her first debt payment, compounded with interest, but also had to leave enough money to live on. After taxes and multifarious other charges, it was not much. At that rate, the debt would never go away … which was the whole point. Her coworkers laughed it off:
That’s how they get you!
That’s how they get you!
In her few moments of free time, Maddy downloaded music onto her PDA and stayed in her room at the motel to avoid browsing the stores. There were no televisions or computers anywhere in Harmony. At first she found it extremely odd, until it occurred to her that any kind of commercially sponsored medium was outmoded technology here. Who needed advertising when companies could pitch directly to your brain, all their products singing like a heavenly choir? TV was obsolete!
Eventually, she’d have to shop again, but she tried putting it off as long as possible. It was like being a drug addict, and she knew they were in fact tickling the same parts of her brain as alcohol, nicotine, or heroin. She understood that very well, yet knowing was no defense against the growing sense of sick yearning that hung like a ball and chain from her heart.
To keep her mind off it, she listened to music and obsessively rearranged the contents of her cabinets. There it was: all the stuff she had bought during her binge—nonsensical items like an extension cord and a cordless drill, a rectal thermometer, a neck brace. Some things made obvious sense—the tiny travel kits for sewing and manicuring—but what did she need with ten bottles of toothache remedy?
She also started cleaning fanatically, scrubbing and sterilizing every metal object with antibacterial soap, alcohol, or boiling water, then rolling them all up in plastic bags.
Everything was going along fine until she saw Lakisha with Ben.
It was two weeks after her arrival back in Harmony. Maddy was up on a utility pole fixing a blown transformer that hadn’t been grounded properly—typical. There were much better ways to do everything, but nobody on the crew listened when she spoke, so she had stopped bothering.
Morons.
If they wanted stuff to work like crap, so be it.
Morons.
If they wanted stuff to work like crap, so be it.
Glancing down at the park, she saw Ben. He was walking toward the bandstand, hands in his pockets, looking cool as ever with his lazy, confident strides. She had been thinking a lot about Ben lately, wondering if she should seek him out and talk to him. Ask him about Denton … and their folks. Chances were, he knew less than she did. But it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him.
Ben waved at someone, and suddenly Maddy saw Lakisha running from the bandstand to meet him. They embraced, kissing, then walked away arm in arm. They were obviously in love.
That night, Maddy found a dead raccoon in her bathtub.
THIRTY-FIVE
FISSURE
IT was bedtime. Maddy had just finished brushing her teeth when she glanced over, and there it was. The poor thing looked like roadkill, its fur clotted into black fins, its skull crushed and bloody teeth bared and clenched together in a frozen snarl. Its little fez was flattened as if it had been stomped on.
Maddy caught her breath, then left the bathroom and turned off the light.
Yes,
she thought.
Okay. I get it.
she thought.
Okay. I get it.
Keeping her mind focused on inconsequential details, Maddy donned her PDA’s ear-buds, set its music playlist to start with Mozart’s
Requiem
, and turned off all the lights. Then she took the chair and nightstand from the main room and placed them beside the bathtub. She couldn’t see the raccoon anymore, couldn’t see anything in the total darkness. That was good; it meant the hidden cameras probably couldn’t see much either. The difference was that Maddy didn’t need her eyes to know exactly where she was. There was already a perfect 3-D model of the room in her head. Its clarity and interactivity were far greater than the crude stereopticon of human eyesight.
Requiem
, and turned off all the lights. Then she took the chair and nightstand from the main room and placed them beside the bathtub. She couldn’t see the raccoon anymore, couldn’t see anything in the total darkness. That was good; it meant the hidden cameras probably couldn’t see much either. The difference was that Maddy didn’t need her eyes to know exactly where she was. There was already a perfect 3-D model of the room in her head. Its clarity and interactivity were far greater than the crude stereopticon of human eyesight.
Gathering items from the cabinets, she laid them out beside the tub, then stepped in and closed the shower curtain. Just in case of infrared surveillance.
Taking her clothes off, she hung them on the curtain rod and sat down in the tub. Opening a portable grooming kit, she removed an electric razor and used it to shave the new hair from her scalp, taking extra care around the tender scar tissue. Then she vacuumed herself with a DustBuster and cleaned her hands and scalp with alcohol wipes. That stung.
She stripped an extension cord and twisted the copper wiring around a piece of nichrome from the toaster, wrapped it thickly in insulating tape, and plugged it in. Finally, she put on the neck brace, good and rigid, and propped herself up with rolled towels.
Using a razor-sharp matte knife in one hand, she cut into her head—sliced right down to the bone, drawing the blade in a semicircle along the anterior rim of the implant. With her other hand, she squirted the incision with concentrated phenol she had distilled from over-the-counter medication. The pain, bright at first as an electric arc, dimmed to a dull orange throbbing. Blood gushed freely down the back of her head and neck, soaking into the towels, until Maddy clamped the vessels with a staple gun. She also stapled back the crescent flap of scalp she had opened, baring the round, enameled disk of her implant. About the size of a silver dollar, it was flush with the surrounding bone, smoother but just as hard, glued in place with a bonding agent similar to dental cement.
The technology of the thing held no mysteries to her, and she didn’t hesitate to crack it open with a power drill. On its reverse side was the RF coil, and underneath that was the Ultra Low Power Bluetooth transceiver, held in place by tiny recessed screws.
Taking a microscrewdriver from an eyeglass repair kit, Maddy fastened it to the drill and pulled the screws, then carefully unpacked the shielded RF module and GPS unit. There was enough play in the wires to allow access to the signal processor beneath, and Maddy located the data port. Everything was hugely magnified, a holographic image extrapolated from materials she had read at Braintree.
It did not escape her notice that she was below the level of her skull, tinkering in a cavity that penetrated an inch or more into her brain—the part known as the fissure of Rolando. She didn’t dwell on it.
Crudely unhousing the guts of her PDA, she cannibalized it for parts, using the red-hot insulated needle as a soldering gun to install a two-way serial-port connection in her head, brazing an entirely new circuit path out of mercury amalgam (from the rectal thermometer). This enabled her to do something the Braintree doctors never intended: communicate with the system.
Her microprocessor was now a two-way street.
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