Perfectopia - Part #9/9
In an ideal world, YOU are the imperfection.
PREVIOUSLY:
The mysterious stranger, who offered help to Sigmund, turns out to be Mrs. Novak—a former counselor from the NRC. She happened to be immune and was using her unique position to funnel scientific equipment into a secret lab underneath a Reseeder camp. In the lab, Siggy, with the help of his friends, completes the solution for Anti-Neurils and releases the data onto the Internet in hopes that a few remaining scientific minds will pick it up and manufacture the cure, should the team in Edmonton fail. As Earth is getting ready to celebrate “World Unity Day” and friends start producing the first batch of Anti-Neurils, the camp is swarmed by Administrator’s enforces, having been tipped by Sigmund’s public announcement.
Part #9
Same day - July 1st, 2032 | Outside Edmonton, Canada
A muffled racket of commotion reached them through the open door—screams mixed with a command blaring over the loudspeaker.
“MEMBERS OF THIS ENCAMPMENT HAVE BEEN DETERMINED TO BE INVOLVED IN THE CONSIPIRACY AGAINST THE COMMON GOOD AND DISSEMINATION OF INFORMATION OF POTENTIALLY HARMFUL NATURE. BY ORDER OF THE ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE OF ALBERTA, THIS CAMP IS TO BE LIQUIDATED. ANY RESISTANCE WILL BE MET BY LETHAL FORCE.”
As if to punctuate the message, a few shots rang out.
“So fucking close.” Sighed Paul, collapsing into a chair.
“No! I’m not gonna just keel over.” Snapped Sigmund, glancing at the Nanofabricator. The first container was 90% full. That’ll have to do. He hit the ‘Pressurize’ button.
Another Reseeder ran into the room. “They’re coming this way!”
Sigmund glanced at the LCD on the machine—60 seconds to go. Fuck!
“Hey!” Mr. Novak called out to Sigmund before tossing him a key. “There’s a motorcycle parked around the back of this building. Take it. I’ll try to buy you some time.”
She turned and disappeared up the stairs, a gun in her hand catching light.
“Hey fellas! Up here.” A shout wafted in from the above moments later, followed by multiple bangs, ringing out further away with each shot.
The machine pinged and hissed, the pressure in its manufacturing chamber equalizing.
Wasting no time, Sigmund grabbed the cylinder and looked around the room. “Does anyone know how to ride a bike?”
“My ex-boyfriend used to have one. Taught me to use it, too.” Said Gaby, apologetically. “A very long time ago.”
Without a word, Sigmund snatched her hand and took off towards the staircase, pausing in the doorway for a split second to cast a glance at the friends he was about to leave behind, possibly to never see again.
“Go!” Yelled Emily while Paul nodded.
They emerged into a street of chaos, a dozen of red-banded enforcers focused on a window of a building further down the road. A few of them were bleeding out on the gravel, while the others were closing in on the entrance.
Sigmund and Emily, still holding hands, rounded the corner and almost ran into a canvas-covered bundle. They both pulled the cover to reveal a battered motorcycle, polished Yamaha RZ350 sign on its side.
“Whoa, a real classic!” Exclaimed Gaby, then, realizing they don’t have time to admire, jumped onto the seat, motioning for Sigmund to hop on. “The noise of this thing, it’s going to attract attention. Make sure you hold tight.”
Despite the warning, the roar of the engine took Sigmund by surprise. Gaby revved it a couple of times, familiarizing with the powerful machine, then put it in first gear with her left foot, sharply rolled the throttle handle, and released the clutch. Spitting gravel, the motorcycle lurched forward, the inertia almost sweeping Sigmund off the saddle. They tore into the street and swerved into a small path heading away from the main square. Sigmund stole a glance back, catching hostile faces turning their way, before a bushy canopy covered them from the view.
“Where to?” Shouted Gaby over the roar of the engine, as soon as they jumped on a paved road.
Celebrate with the world. The words re-emerged in Sigmund’s fatigued mind, almost without his conscious effort.
“Hawrelak Park.” He said.
***
They had to abandon the bike on the outskirts of the park, the converging crowds too thick to navigate in.
“Let’s release the Anti-Neurils here.” Suggested Gaby, as they moved towards the center on foot.
“No, can’t risk it.” Sigmund dismissed the proposal, pushing forward. “Need a critical mass.”
They emerged into a huge open space, filled with people, an enormous stage set up in its middle.
“There.” Barked Sigmund, pointing at the podium. “It’s perfect!”
He elbowed towards the stage, Gaby barely able to keep up in his wake. As they reached the raised platform, a middle-aged man in a blindingly white suit climbed up on it from the opposing side, and walked to the mike set up in the middle.
“DEAR CITIZENS!” Thundered a greeting from the loudspeakers, its echo reverberating through the park. The man stopped before saying anything else, a puzzled look coming onto his face—just a question, not a shock. Someone clabbering onto the stage was certainly not in the script.
Sigmund, finally rolled onto the platform, stood up and headed towards the stunned speaker. He pushed the still silent fella away and grasped the mic.
“Folks, I’m so sorry!” He spoke for the crowd, frantically combing it for Gaby. “The world is fucked, even if you don’t realize it, and it’s all my fault.”
He smiled when his eyes finally locked onto Gaby’s. She was in panic, waving and pointing at something behind him.
Sigmund turned. Three bulky shapes were already up on the stage and advancing at him. He had only a second.
“This ends now!” He shouted and flipped the release valve of the container, held high.
Mesmerized, among thousands of silent people, Gaby watched how the expression on Sigmund’s face went from resolve to puzzlement and then despair in a fraction of a second. There was no pop, no hiss, no rapidly expanding mist. They failed.
One of the goons slammed Sigmund to the ground, pinning the man she realized she still cared for under a massive body, before zip-tying him and dragging off stage.
At that moment, Gaby’s world melted.
***
Months later | Edmonton, Canada
A notification sound pierced the silence, making Gaby jump and spill the precious canned minestrone she treated herself to. She cursed at the misfortune—Paul’s supply was nearly depleted, even with her as a sole occupant of the mansion.
She went back to the Reseeder camp the next day after the park fiasco, finding the place leveled to the ground and no sign of her friends. She randomly rode the Yamaha through the streets, even tried shadowing enforcer units in hopes they’d lead her to some kind of detention facility where she’d try to pick up trail to Siggy, Emily or Paul. Nothing.
Gradually, Gaby gave up looking. She’d sit there, resigned, nursing whatever crumb or drink she could find, until that ping made her spill the soup this morning.
It took a while for her brain to associate the sound. Someone tagged her on social media. What the hell? That stuff no longer happened, ever. She didn’t even know why she bothered to charge the phone anymore.
Unlocking the screen, she tapped an app icon with a +1 circle on it. There, right at the top of the feed was a new post by Maggie—her friend from high-school.
-----------------------------
Hey @everyone. It’s so weird to write this, but it’s like I just woke up from a very strange dream. I mean, I kinda remember what went down before today, but it feels like it was someone else who experienced all that, not me. I’m going mad here, please, someone reply.
P.S. Oh god, I’m so hungry, I could eat an elephant!
-----------------------------***
EPILOGUE
A few months earlier | Somewhere in Central America
Roberto Pineda stared at the gun, lying on the table in front of him. Weeks ago, he snatched it from the armory when the opportunity presented itself. He didn’t have an idea why at the time, but he knew now—he’ll use it to end his life.
He lost count of the months since they snatched him from his home, away from the family, if you could call zombies occupying the bodies of his wife and two teenage twin daughters that. Dragged him through numerous flights and rides, finally dumping in a windowless lab and tasked with finding a cure for the PanCrop.
The lab, the strangest Roberto had ever seen, had every kind of scientific equipment, a good part of it a mystery for him. There were people in the lab, but their focus and usefulness deteriorated faster than Roberto’s hope to come up with something useful. He was lost, and he was alone, with only likeminded strangers on hidden forums keeping him sane.
Then they took away the Internet. No need for distractions, all the information is on the servers and there is still email if you need to reach out to someone, said the goon they sent to break the news. No point in arguing with the human robot.
He touched the cool metal. That was it. The end of the road.
Pixels rearranging on the display caught Roberto’s attention. A new email. The cure for humanity, said the subject. The world was going to shit, and someone still was joking around. Whatever, I might just as well…