ZOMBPUNK

Book 1

STEM

by

Christopher Blankley



Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Blankley

Smashwords Edition

other books by Christopher Blankley:
The Cordwainer
The Bobbies of Bailiwick

Thanks to Dorothy Darrow (dorothydarrow.weebly.com)
for editing help

www.zombpunk.com






Chapter 1

It was a shit sandwich – a sandwich made of shit. The bread was stale and molding, and the meat... well, whatever it was... sat like slime between the two slices. Elder Tull poked it with a disinterested finger. It was his sandwich – his shit sandwich – and he'd have to eat it. It was all he had, the only thing to eat that day, but he took no joy in anticipating the act. If it looked bad, Elder reasoned, then how disgusting must it taste? His half-naked, bone-thin figure shuddered. He scratched his stomach through the abject filth of his t-shirt and tried to summon up a mouth full of saliva. He would eat it, he knew, but he would have to cajole his taste buds to play along. 
Mustard, Elder Tull thought, mustard. It'd definitely taste better with a little mustard...
What could be keeping Steve and Eydie? Elder stepped away from the counter of the small kitchenette and picked a path through the soiled mattresses and garbage that littered the floor of the flee-ridden apartment. At the window, he looked through the broken glass down at the alleyway below. There was no one there. It'd never taken Steve and Eydie this long to score scran before. They should have been home over an hour ago. 
Elder steadied himself on the windowsill as a fit of retching convulsed through his body. A ball of phlegm made its way out of his lungs, and he spat it out through the broken windowpane. He'd just have to eat his sandwich without mustard, he concluded, and made his way back towards the kitchenette. 
The sandwich sat there alone on the cold counter. He had better eat it before it stood up and demanded marriage equality, Elder Tull thought, reaching for a rusty kitchen cleaver. The filling of the sandwich oozed over its sides as he sliced the sandwich in two. Elder's stomach churned.
A slice of sandwich was paused at Elder's lips when he heard the handle to the front door rattle. Steve and Eydie! he thought, and dropped the slice back onto the counter with a wet slop. He skipped through the garbage of the apartment and fumbled with the chain to the door. Instantly, a crack in the door pushed open and the small frame of Eydie slid into the room. She didn't speak, just pushed the door closed behind her, slapping Elder's hand out of the way to reattach the chain.
"Did you get the–" Elder asked, but Eydie wouldn't face him. She scurried off across the room, crab-like, keeping her back to Elder, until she reached her mattress by the broken window. She flopped down and pulled a threadbare blanket up and over her head, leaving only her skanky head of dark dreadlocks visible above the covers. "Eydie?" Elder began, then paused. He looked around, his addled brain slowly registering the absence of something. "Where's Stevie?" he finally asked.
Eydie didn't reply. She didn't even stir. 
"How about the scran?" Elder asked, the pain in his stomach reminding him. "You said you knew about a guy..." He trailed off as the nest of greasy dreadlocks slowly began to shake. Eydie was crying silently into her pillow. Elder's empty, starving stomach sank. Oh God, he realized, what had happened to Steve?
Elder crossed the room and lowered himself down beside the mattress. He held out a hand and let it hover over the blanket. He wanted to comfort Eydie, but knew better than to touch her. He satisfied himself with a cooing sound. Perhaps she'd find that soothing... Elder vaguely remembered it working with crying babies.
Eventually he summoned up the force of will to speak again, "Eydie," he tried, "what happened to Steve?"
But he already knew. When the covers came back and Eydie turned to face him with bloodshot, wet eyes, he already knew. They had him. How or why, Elder didn't yet understand, but the most important cold, hard fact he already knew: they had him. And that meant he was now one of them.
"Oh, God..." Elder collapsed like the pins had been pulled out of his spine. If he'd eaten his sandwich, if there'd been anything in his stomach at all, he'd have puked it right up. But the dry heaves he could choke down. He lay down amongst the garbage of the apartment and let his head lay against the cold wood of the floor. 
Steve was gone. Steve was a Stem.
"We–we were down on Stone..." Eydie began, pulling herself up onto her knees. "Y–You know, almost all the way down to the canal... there's this Puke... well, used to be this Puke... with a squat in an old pizza kitchen down there... anyway, you said you were jonesing for mustard..." Eydie paused as the tears began to well up again. Elder sat up and put a comforting hand on her bone-thin shoulder. "And this Puke did a trade in old spices... not much nowadays, but... I mean, he had connections, out in the sticks where things still grow... but we get there and–"
Eydie stopped, suddenly turning sheet white. She stared dead ahead, like she could see straight through Tull, at the sight she'd seen in that old pizza kitchen.
"Somebody had plugged the old fool," she continued. "He was laying right there on the linoleum in a pool of blood. We come in the back way, under the fence like always, and there he was, right in the middle of the kitchen."
"Oh God..." Elder Tull muttered.
"But the worst part is that we weren't the first to find him," Eydie blinked, then coughed, and her gaze snapped back to the present. She looked up at Elder. "We stumbled right into the middle of it: a whole fucking episode of CSI. Cops and coroners and photographers, the real deal... taking measurements, putting stuff in plastic bags... they all just stood there for the longest time, staring at us like idiots, wondering what we were doing there. All the while, we're staring back at them. Nobody's moving. Nobody's doing shit. Just Steve and me, half the Seattle PD, and a dead Puke on the linoleum, with a hole in his head.
"Then I'm, like, thinking: this doesn't look good. Us walking right into the middle of a murder scene, and all. And for what? Mustard? Who's going to believe that shit? And I know Steve is thinking the same thing. I can sense him next to me, going all cat-like... you know, his back arching up. He's gonna run, I can feel it, and I'm, like, dude, don't you dare, 'cause these cops will pounce the second you show tail. But I'm not saying it, 'cause we're all just standing there in silence... the cops just staring at us like we're the fucking second coming of Christ or something.
"Then the shit hits the fan. I don't know if Steve started running, or a cop just came to his senses... all I know is everyone was suddenly shouting and guns were coming out and Steve and me were back out through that door like our asses were on fire. We hit that fence and Steve pulls the chain link up for me and I'm scrambling in the dirt and by the time I'm back on my feet in the alley a cop is body-slamming Steve like a Mexican wrestler. He's all squashed up against the chain link as the cop is twisting his arm and people are yelling at me to stop were I am, and the barrels of guns are being shoved through the links... 
"So I turned and ran." She stopped, her thousand-yard stare returning. Elder realized his hand was still holding her shoulder, gripping it tight. He must have been hurting her, but she didn't seem to notice. He let go of her shoulder, his fingers leaving behind a red welt ringing her shoulder blade. 
"Oh God..." he said one final time. But it didn't do the situation justice. "Fuck," he tried. 
"Yeah, fuck," Eydie agreed. 
"Then..." Elder continued after a contemplative pause. He glanced back towards the kitchenette counter where his sandwich was waiting for him. "No mustard?"

#

There was nothing that could be done. If the cops had Stevie, guilty or innocent, he'd already have been stemmed. 
He was already dead as far as Elder Tull and Eydie were concerned.
It wasn't like the police had much of a choice – it wasn't like they were set up to feed Pukes – but it hardly condoned the procedure of stemming each and every prisoner arrested for even the most casual of crimes. Not that there were many people left without stems. Just sad, useless Pukes like Elder, Steve and Eydie. But didn't they have their rights? Weren't they still human?
No, not without a stem they weren't.
It was the single greatest scientific discovery in history – that fact could not be disputed. It was the savior of mankind, the earth, and western civilization: the Whole Life Interface, the WLI, casually know to all as 'The Stem.' It was a cybernetic implant that supplanted the stomach and converted electricity into nutrients. It left only a simple electrical socket above the surface of the skin, mounted below the sternum. Plugged into an electrical power source, the stem provided its owner with almost unlimited, cheap sustenance; they could eat electricity. It meant an end to world hunger, an end to wide-spread poverty, an end to suffering... 
And an end to food.
Clean, carbon-free fusion reactors created the electricity to fuel the stem, and without the need for humans to consume resources for survival, humanity had almost completely removed itself from the planet's ecosystem. No more hamburgers needed to feed a hungry population; no more cattle needed to be made into beef for those burgers; no field upon field of corn needed to feed that cattle; no fleet of trucks needed to haul the fertilizer to grow that corn. Without the pressure of human consumption weighing on the planet, the environment was finally able to made inroads and heal itself. Perhaps the greatest gift the Whole Life Interface had bestowed on mankind was a measurable decline in anthropological global warming. There'd been a three degree drop in global temperatures since the stem had reached a critical mass of adoption globally. The war between the environment and humanity was over and they had learned to live in peace. And it was all thanks to the stem.
But not everyone had signed up for the brave new world.
Small groups in all cultures resisted the new technology. Many based their antagonism on religious beliefs, others on social conservatism. A whole slew of conspiracy theories were floated in regard to Whole Life Inc. the corporate entity that developed, patented and sold the stem: that it was a form of mind control, that it stole people's free will. 
But mostly these groups remained on the fringe. In mainstream society, the stem had been quickly adopted. Not only did the stem free its owner from the burden of daily sustenance, its internal regulators and advanced software made sure that each client of Whole Life Inc. was kept in peak physical condition. There was no more overeating, no need to strain with daily exercise. Through small, internal electrical stimulation, the stem could tone muscle and burn fat while its owner slept. Suddenly, the world was thin and beautiful.
But not the Pukes. 
Those who held out against the social pressure to be stemmed were pushed further and further towards the edges of society. The global food distribution system quickly collapsed. Grocery stores closed and restaurants vanished. Pukes quickly discovered that what food they couldn't grow for themselves was impossible to find. They were too few in number for any business to serve profitably, and far too lost in the political wilderness for any welfare state to assist. They were a problem that mainstream Stem society hoped to remove, either by stemming the last of the hold-out Pukes, or by letting them die in the gutter from self-imposed starvation.
Those few holdouts were a squalid lot.
Unable to hold jobs, they could do little else but forage for sustenance. They were nothing more than food junkies, scratching out what living they could, attempting to pull together enough for a simple meal. Those in rural areas initially fared better, where the fruit of the land was more easily within reach. But as the volatile whims of nature plowed under crops and the scarcity of equipment fit for farm use increased, most were forced into the city to scavenge off what affluent Stem society discarded. 
They were little more than animals, one missed meal away from death. But at least they were free, and whole as God intended. That is, until they broke a law. Then, for their own safety, they would be forcibly stemmed.
And then all their troubles were over.





Chapter 2

There was a white light, then darkness. Pain, then a sensation of peace. Slowly, Steve became aware of the ceiling tiles above him. He blinked, attempting to focus, then let his eyelids close. He was tired, and something had his left arm pinned. Unconsciousness overcame him. There was nothing but darkness again.
He awoke with a start, sucking in a large lungful of air and struggling against the bedclothes that covered his body. He sat up quickly, sending his head spinning. A wave of vertigo threw him back against a mass of white pillows. He breathed hard, pausing. He took in the room. The same ceiling tiles from before were there... a hospital bed... medical machines... IV drips... blinds covering a dark window...
His heart was pounding. He raised a hand and laid it on his chest. His arm was a nest of tubes and IV needles. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the backseat of a police cruiser, his hands in cuffs. No, he remembered more: dried blood on a steel gurney...
No, no, please... Steve's hand moved down his chest. There, just below his ribcage, a cable running from under his hospital robe...
"Good morning, Mr. Pope. How are we feeling?" a female voice spoke from inside the room. Steve convulsed with shock. He wasn't alone. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and saw a woman sitting in a chair against the far wall of the room. An attractive, young woman with long blond hair, looking at Steve with concerned eyes. Her legs were crossed and she held a lit cigarette between the first and second fingers of her right hand. A swirl of smoke curled up from its burning tip, filling the room with the smell of tobacco mixed with cannabis. 
Stem! Steve's mind screamed. Stem!
He scrambled back against the head of the bed, up to a sitting position, and grabbed frantically at the cable that protruded from his chest. The woman was on her feet, reaching out with a comforting hand. Steve slapped her arm away and pulled his paper-thin robe free of his shoulders. He bared his chest and stared in horror at where the cable terminated: a round, plastic socket stapled awkwardly below his sternum, the cable plugged into it like a lamp plugged into the wall. The flesh around the socket was red and bloodied, sore and swollen from the incision that had implanted the device.
Steve screamed.
The memories came flooding back to Steve... the dried blood on a steel gurney... the police officers holding his arms... the pain... the jail nurse, bare hands covered in Steve's blood... the centipede-like device, tentacles flinching, silhouetted in the harsh light, before slowly being fed into his wound... more pain, then blackness... then waking up here...
"Mr. Pope!" the woman yelled, taking Steve by the shoulder. "Everything is all right! Mr. Pope! Calm down. You're safe now. You're in a hospital." In her right hand, with the cigarette, she had a small remote control. With her thumb she was dialing a button. A warm feeling began to wash over Steve. He breathed hard, his heart thrumming in his chest. The terror inside him was receding, like a cloud moving away from the sun.
"I-I-I..." Steve stammered.
"Your name is Nathan Pope, do you remember?" the young woman asked as she rubbed Steve's bare shoulder.
"Nathan?" Steve replied. "No one calls me Nathan..."
"Nevertheless, isn't that your name?" the woman asked soothingly. Steve nodded. "My name is Jude. I am your court appointed therapist. You've had a terrible shock, Mr. Pope, but everything is all right. You were in jail."
"Oh, God..." Steve's fingers danced along the length of the protruding power cable as if contemplating how to detach it from his implant.
"Don't!" The woman let go of his shoulder and took his hand, squeezing. "Yes, while in jail, you were stemmed. But it's okay... I'm here to help you though this transition. Mr. Pope?"
Steve couldn't pull his gaze away from the cable thrusting out from his chest. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't be. It had to be some sort of bad dream. 

#

They called it Stem Shock. During the first twelve hours after implantation, the risk of a psychological break in a number of boarder cases had been determined to be non zero. After the initial twelve hours, almost a hundred percent of recipients had grown accustomed to the cocktail of endorphins and neural stimulants fed to them by their stem. But in those early hours, close monitoring and the presence of a therapist was required to mitigate the risk of a breakdown. 
Essentially, all a patient needed as the shock of waking and finding a foreign object implanted in your his chest hit him was some medication management and a hand to hold. These therapists had facetiously been nicknamed 'midwives,' as their role was considered something akin to assisting with a live birth. Perhaps calling it a re-birth was more accurate: from an old way of living to a new, improved form of existence. 
Jude was Steve's midwife. 
She seemed too young to be a therapist, but Stems always did. Steve would have guessed she was no more than fifteen or sixteen, but he knew that to be an illusion. Stems didn't age like Pukes, and she could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty and shown no signs of her age. As he looked at her, he realized she was one of the Stems to follow the fad of having her intestines removed surgically as unneeded bio-matter. She had the resulting impossibly thin, wasp-like waist. She was pretty; something like a life-sized Barbie. 
She had a bubbly, sorority sister charm about her as she calmly and carefully talked Steve through the events of the last few hours. He had been arrested in connection with the murder of one Samuel 'Geezip' Andrews, sent to County, and processed. He was still in recovery in the jail's infirmary when his Public Defender filed a writ of habeas corpus. The police's DNA and fingerprint samples taken at booking had come back negative – Steve wasn't their murderer – so the Attorney General's office refused to prosecute. Steve was a free man. He had been transferred to Harborview Hospital before the sedatives from his stem implantation had even worn off. That was when Jude had been called.
"The police still have some questions – like exactly what your business was this evening with Geezip – but for the time being, you're supposed to focus on your recovery," Jude said, lighting up another cigarette. She took a deep draw and blew a billow of smoke into the air between them. Steve sat motionless in his bed, watching the woman.
I should jump out of the bed and throttle her, he thought. A few hours ago, put in this same position, he'd have done exactly that. He'd come to despise the Stems so much – so many years of hating everything they stood for. If he'd been put alone in a room with a Stem then, he'd have killed without remorse. One less Stem to pollute the world, he'd have reasoned. But now... sitting there with her not a meter away from him, he couldn't raise within himself enough power to even move a finger. 
"I hope you will think of me as a friend," Jude was saying. "It's my job to help you re-acclimate to normal society. You've been lost for so long, Nathan, lost to the slavery of your own horrible dependence. It can be terrifying to discover yourself, just like that, free of the bonds that once held you down. It's my job to help you adjust. I'll be here to help you, Nathan, every step of the way. And there will be many steps, Nathan, before you can put your old life behind you."
"Steve," Steve spoke, low and growling. "My name is Steve." That was what he had been called. Steve and Eydie, like the singers. Eydie...
"Yes, alright. If you'd like to be called Steve..." Jude took another drag on her cigarette. 
"I'm..." Steve began. "I'm hungry..." He looked down at the cable attached to the power socket in his chest.
"Phantom hunger pangs. It's normal," Jude said. "Soon you'll never be hungry again."





Chapter 3

Elder ate his sandwich hungrily, not letting it sit in his mouth long enough for him to taste. He ate it all before remembering Eydie. She was probably hungry, too. She'd gone out for food and come back empty handed – even without Steve. 
Better not to think about Steve. He was gone. That'd be easy enough for Elder, but Eydie wouldn't forget so quick. They'd been together... hell, longer than Elder could remember. They were Steve and Eydie, for Christ's sake! You couldn't have Steve without Eydie, or Eydie without Steve. It was Steve AND Eydie. Never one without the other.
It'd be up to Elder Tull now. 
He could remember before, when they'd all been young – before the food had started to get scarce, back in college. Elder and Eydie had dated. Yeah, before she'd met Steve, before she'd been called Eydie. What had her name been? Elder couldn't remember. All he could remember was the sight of Eydie, naked, when her body had still been whole. High, full breasts and a pair of real hips, not the skin and bones she was now. He could remember vividly the sight of her straddling him, smiling as various pleasures played a symphony across her beautiful face. 
But now the memory did nothing for him. Nothing. He looked down at his soiled boxer shorts. There were no signs that the memory stirred any sort of physical reaction. With Steve gone, if Eydie looked to Elder... he'd need that sort of memory to stir something. 
Elder coughed, then coughed again. Very soon he was consumed by another retching fit that doubled him over as he stood at the kitchenette counter. 
If Elder was the man of the house now...
He went to find his pants. 

#

The torn blue jeans were under his mattress. Eydie didn't stir as he dressed. Elder counted what little money there was in his pants pockets, and unhooked the chain from the door. Minutes later, he was out of the squalid apartment and amongst the bustle of an early evening on the Ave. The sidewalks were crowded with Stems, fresh from a day of classes at the university. With the university not two blocks away, the Ave was always crowded with them, out for an evening visit to the smoke bars that lined the length of the high street. 
They gave Elder a wide berth. His dirty beard and toothless snarl were a sharp contrast to the perfect visages of the Stems. Like a leper on market day, Elder moved without interference from the crowd – all he lacked was a bell, and the rhythmic chant of "unclean." No one would touch him, he knew, as if his dire straits could be caught through physical contact.
Where he was going, Elder Tull didn't know. He had the vague idea that he needed to score some scran. When Eydie emerged from her sorrow, she'd be hungry. Even the loss of Steve couldn't hold that pain back for long. And it was Elder's duty now to provide. Eydie would be depending on him. But it'd been so long since anyone had depended on Elder. It was like an old coat he'd found in the back of a closet. He put it on, only to find it was now two sizes too big, and he couldn't find his hands, and each way he stepped he feared he'd trip over its hem. Where was Elder going to find some food? Where?
Panhandling was useless. It'd been years since that ploy had worked. There wasn't a sympathetic face left in the great sea of Stems that moved up and down the Ave. Not for a Puke, at least. 
And what good was money to Elder, anyway, without food to buy? No, he'd have to shake the tree: hit up other Pukes for what scran they might have scored themselves. After all, it wasn't for him, but for Eydie... if he pitched around the story about Steve's arrest, maybe there'd be some sympathy. If sympathy scored him a square meal... well, what was wrong with that?
He moved south down the Ave to where 45th crossed the main boulevard. As he approached the intersection, the low beats of muffled music reached Elder's ears. It could mean only one thing: the Brothers. Elder broke into a slow trot and turned west onto 45th. Sure enough, in an empty lot facing onto Brooklyn Ave, a low stage and a pair of fluttering banners had been erected. The Brothers of Bannock! Elder laughed, and choked back a cough. Sons of bitches!
On the low stage, a rock-and-roll quartet was charging through some old classic rock track Elder hazily remembered from the good old days. A preacher stood beside them at a podium, thumping on a Bible and bellowing into a microphone. Perhaps two dozen disheveled Pukes were milling in front of the stage as the preacher delivered his sermon. More were lined up at tables beside the stage, where men and women in blue and green t-shirts were handing out loaves of bread and something white wrapped in clear plastic. 
Elder didn't need an invitation. He quickly fell in line at the back of the bread queue. 
"Sin, my brothers and sisters!" The preacher's voice echoed off the surrounding buildings, amplified tenfold by a massive pair of free standing speakers. The bread line was uncomfortably close to these and Elder held his filthy hands over his ears. The line shuffled slowly forward as each Puke took his handout in turn. "Sin, I say! 'Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh, for I am the Lord!' These are the words of God! 'Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God!' I ask you, brothers and sisters, who are we to reject the gifts of our Lord? 'Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things!'"
When Elder's turn finally came, he was happy to take the offered loaf of bread and package of unidentifiable white goo, and he slipped quickly out of earshot of the thundering speakers. At the mouth of a nearby alleyway he paused to take a bite out of the bread and examine the small, plastic-wrapped lump. The bread was doughy, undercooked, but edible, and the white stuff was something like cheese, though perhaps nothing more than unprocessed curds. He unwrapped the package and gulped it down in two large bites. It was bland and a bit salty.
The preacher droned on as Elder ate. He'd finished half of the bread before he remembered the reason he'd ventured away from the apartment in the first place. He'd save the rest for Eydie, he told himself, chewing and swallowing a mouthful. Back in the empty lot, the preacher's voice faded from the loudspeakers and the band kicked into high gear, attempting to cover some hair-band oldie. There were more missed notes than hits, but the drummer kept thing moving along, covering up the worst mistakes with a crescendo of cymbals. 
The Brothers of Bannock, the crazy motherfuckers... Elder thought, taking an absentminded bite out of the loaf. Out and proud, sticking a finger up the asses of the Stems. Elder didn't care for any of their religious bullshit, but he had to give the Brothers props. They had balls – big, hairy ones – to be out in the early evening feeding Pukes for free, right there for the Stems to see. 
They had to know what a disgusting spectacle they made. Anyone else and the cops would come down hard. Creating a Public Disturbance, or some shit like that. But rumor was that the Brothers of Bannock were well protected politically. Elder had heard that none other than Drew Arrow himself financed the religious group. And with money like Drew Arrow's, you could afford to be out in the open. 
With money like Drew Arrow's, you could buy off a hell of a lot of cops. With money like Drew Arrow's, you could buy just about any-fucking-thing...
Elder munched on his bread, thinking.
Outwardly, the Brothers were about feeding poor Pukes, easing the suffering of those left unconverted. They objected to the stem for religious reasons, claiming it to be unnatural or ungodly or some shit – Elder Tull didn't care. Secretly, however, it was rumored they were preparing for a complete split from Stem society. Some sort of evangelical, shining city on a hill sort of deal. 
According to the Prime Administrator (who, admittedly, wasn't a reliable source) Bannock was a real, physical place. Somewhere up in the mountains near Seattle. Drew Arrow and all the end-of-days, keen-for-Jesus types had started construction on their new Jerusalem years before the stem had even been invented. They'd seen its introduction as fulfillment of prophecy – the first sign of the coming Armageddon. Someday soon, when things got really dire, they would round up all the remaining Pukes – however few were left – and set out for this hidden Elysium. 
Of course, this was all according to the Prime Administrator, so it was probably bullshit. But Elder had a soft spot for such talk. The idea of a place where Pukes could go and just be... well, Pukes. Where there was food and drink aplenty and no scavenging around for scran... what was not to like? 
Yeah, Elder had to give the Brothers props, even with all the religious bullshit. If there really was a place like Bannock where all the Pukes would someday get to go, far away, where the Stems couldn't find them... well, Elder Tull wouldn't say no to that. No sir. Elder Tull was ready and waiting.
Elder pushed the last crumb of his doughy loaf into his mouth and chewed on it as he contemplated Bannock. He'd swallowed before he realized what he'd done. Ah, shit! He threw up his hands, disgusted with himself. Idiot! Motherfucker! He kicked the wall of the alleyway angrily, then doubled over from the pain in his foot. 
He was right back to square one. He still needed to score some scran for Eydie. He thought about getting back in line with the Brothers of Bannock. If he fed them Eydie's sob story... but he knew from experience not to try it. He couldn't see them, but he knew there'd be some heavy security near the Bannock tables, ready and waiting for some Puke to get the bright idea of rushing the breadline.

#

Elder Tull followed 45th out towards the freeway, weighing his options and letting the drone of the Bannock Revival fade into the distance behind him. At the off ramp, where the wide artery poured a steady stream of battery-powered cars into the University District, Elder approached Kevin, standing at his usual spot, holding his handwritten, cardboard sign. 
Kevin was noble in his stance, even while begging. His untidy nest of curly graying hair merged seamlessly with the pelt of his beard. Underneath, his dark skin was spotted with pink patches of flaking sores. He stood with his eyes closed, muttering under his breath, slightly teetering on the balls of his heels. 
As always, Kevin's sign consisted simply of one word: Food. What exactly he meant by this, Elder had never been able to fathom. Was it meant to be 'Food?' with a question mark, as in 'Do you have any food?' That seemed like a ridiculous question to ask an ever flowing stream of Stems passing in their cars. Perhaps it was Kevin's reductivist version of the classic 'Will Work For Food,' shortened to its most critical element. But then the idea of exchanging labor for sustenance was as ridiculous as hoping for a handout. 
No, Elder had come to conclude, Kevin meant nothing more by his sign than exactly what it said: Food. His post at the off ramp with his handmade sign was no attempt to panhandle, but his own personal vigil; a survey, conducted one drivers side window at a time; a search for any sign of conscience in the hurriedly averted glances of the passing Stems. 
"Kevin!" Elder yelled across the off ramp, waiting for the green man to tell him to walk. "Kevin!" 
Kevin stirred from his stupor, turning to see Elder across the road. When the traffic stopped, Elder scurried gingerly across the street. "Kevin, you hear about Steve?"
Kevin blinked once and turned his attention silently back to the traffic. 
"Didn't you hear?" Elder said urgently, putting a hand on Kevin's shoulder and giving it a shake. "The cops got Steve. Just a few hours ago. Eydie's a wreck. I left her back at the apartment. You ain't got any scran, do you? She ain't eating now, but when she calms down..."
Kevin lowered his sign and turned back to Elder. "Didn't you try the Brothers?" Kevin tilted his head towards the echoing bass of the Revival. 
"Yeah, they came up short," Elder lied. 
"Steve, huh?" Kevin said slowly, turning back to the traffic, raising his sign back to eye level. 
"Yeah, Steve... can you believe it?" Elder let out a snicker and was suddenly unable to decide what to do with his hands. He settled on sinking them into the pockets of his jeans, where he found the discarded plastic wrapper from the salty cheese curds. 
"Jail?" 
"Yeah, someone popped a cap into some Puke down by the canal. Cops fitted Steve for it, I guess. Say, about that scran..."
"I ain't holdin'," Kevin replied solemnly. Elder deflated. He kicked a rock, which skipped off the side of a passing car, and he started off again to cross the bridge back over the freeway. He'd only taken two steps when Kevin's voice brought him to a halt. "Did you hear about the Potluck?" Kevin said.
"Potluck?" Elder almost shouted, spinning around.
"Yes, tomorrow night. No?"
"Shit, no!" Elder said excitedly. 
"Apparently Prime had a bountiful trip out to the foothills. He's returned with quite a feast."
"And he's throwing a Potluck?" 
"Yes, all in. Tomorrow night. Like old times," Kevin said with a slight wistfulness. "At Madame Damnable's, of course."
"Of course!" Elder exclaimed. A Potluck? At a bar, no less? Shit, this was big, Elder thought, the biggest thing to happen in a long, long time. Wait until Eydie hears about... Elder's heart sank. Once again, he remembered why he'd stepped out into the evening air. "Say, about Eydie... without Steve... I don't know if she'll make it 'til tomorrow–" 
"Try Sweet Beat," Kevin interrupted with a sigh. "If you must. Tell her I sent you."
Elder smiled. Good old Kevin! Always good for a little scran when a fellow Puke was down on his luck. Elder turned on his heels and trotted off across the freeway bridge.
Kevin returned to his silent vigil, doggedly displaying his cardboard profanity to each and every Stem that passed.





Chapter 4

Jude stroked Steve's cable gently.
"No, no!" Steve called out, reaching up and stopping Jude's hand. She giggled and Steve choked back a grin. "I... I..."
"It doesn't hurt. It won't switch you off or anything," Jude teased. She took a firm grip on the cable protruding from Steve's stem and tugged it, almost pulling Steve clean off the edge of the hospital bed.
"It's just..." Steve hedged. Strangely, after waking up in such terror at the sight of the cable, he was now reluctant to see it removed. "Do I have a full charge? Or whatever you call it?"
Jude laughed. Steve was sitting up, half-naked, with her standing close, the cable in her hands between them. He was close enough to smell her perfume, something flowery. She twisted the cable a quarter turn, and the socket clicked. Steve held his breath. The cable was free, but nothing seemed to change. He let go of the breath and sucked in a new lungful of air. Jude watched him slyly, biting at her bottom lip.
"All right?" She leaned forward, trying to catch Steve's gaze. He looked away timidly. "Okay?" Steve nodded, grinned, and let out an embarrassed laugh. They made eye contact and Jude chuckled. He was like a child, she thought, taking his first steps. It was going to be a big day for Nathan Pope, she knew. She was glad she was there to stop him from falling flat on his face.
Jude turned away and retrieved her still-lit cigarette from the ashtray where she'd left it. She took a drag and collected her thoughts. 
It was, of course, ethically problematic for a midwife to have a physical relationship with one of her cases. It could cost her her license, if not more. But just that day, only an hour before arriving at the hospital, Jude had learned that occupations such as Stem Shock Therapist would soon be a thing of that past – that after Nathan Pope, there'd be very little demand for her special services. So whatever happened between her and Nathan Pope would be nothing more than an issue between Jude and her conscience. And Jude's conscience had never been something that overly bothered her.
"Feel like getting up and walking about?" Jude asked, turning back to Steve. She picked up a folded pair of jeans and a white shirt off the table beside her ashtray and tossed them on the bed beside Steve.
"Up? About?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "Is that a good idea?" Steve straightened up his posture and poked tentatively at his implant. 
"Who's the therapist, huh?" Jude replied over her cigarette. "You're physically fine. And as for mentally..." She held up the small remote control in her hand.
"What's that?" 
"I'm monitoring your stem. I've got a readout here of your EKG. Endocrine levels. If there's any change in your neuro-chemistry, it'll beep here. Then I just push this..." She pointed at a plus button next to a minus one at the base of the remote.
"And what's that?" Steve smiled.
"The Happy Button," Jude smiled back. "It bumps up your stem's production of seratonin. Perfectly natural, safe... it just takes the edge off, lets you see the world in a new light."
"You can control my moods? With that?" Steve asked, concerned. 
"Not control. Influence." Jude snuffed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "But I don't think we'll be needing it." She stepped in close to Steve and put the remote down on his folded, clean set of clothes.
"No?" Steve asked as Jude leaned in dangerously close, her full, red lips tinged with the sweet scent of her cigarette. 
Jude ran her finger around the outline of his implant. "No," she said, watching her fingers move across his chest. "There are so many more fun ways to increase seratonin levels, you know?"

#

Nathan Pope would be the last Puke forcibly converted.
At least that's what the voice had said on the phone as Jude had driven to the hospital. He would be the last Puke forcibly converted, that is, outside the walls of a military installation. A decision had been made. It was still hush-hush, not ready for prime time, but when the penny did drop, there would be no more Nathan Popes. People who knew people would be coming to call, the voice had told Jude. People-people, it said. And all of it had just landed in Jude's lap as the on-call midwife. 
Jude hung up and kept driving, the news swirling around in her head. The last Puke to be converted to a Stem? She forced herself not to jump to conclusions. Jumping to conclusions was a dangerous habit. But even without conjecture, the sort of people-people Nathan Pope would soon be attracting was obvious. Party people. Media people. If decisions had been made, whatever they might be, they'd need to be sold to the public. The last converted Puke would be just the sort of thing to trot out and show off to a curious nation – with a sufficiently harrowing and contrite tale of rehabilitation prepared for him, of course. 
And it had just landed in Jude's lap. 
She scrambled to get her thoughts in order as she pulled into the hospital's underground parking lot. She parked and killed the engine, lighting a cigarette and slowly smoking it down to the filter, sitting there behind the wheel of her car. She didn't want to step out until she had a plan of attack. If she could play the situation just right, it could be big – really big. The last Puke could be... well, the autobiography alone could be a multi-million dollar seller. Jude even knew a novelist down in San Diego with a half-finished manuscript right along those lines. Only the names would have to be changed, the geography moved around a bit. 
Yes, a whole new million dollar media empire. The Last Puke. Not just a story, but a brand... it could be big. If handled right. And Jude could handle it. 
She opened her car door and stomped out her cigarette on the concrete. She grabbed her purse and crossed the parking lot towards the elevators. She had it all straight in her head now, not five minutes after her cell phone had rung. She pushed the up arrow and waited, digging in her purse for another cigarette. She knew exactly how to handle Nathan Pope:
She'd fuck him the first chance she could get.

#

Steve pulled himself up off the edge of the hospital bed and let his gown fall to the ground around his feet. Jude was watching him, no more than a few feet away, apparently unconcerned by his obvious erection. He took the folded jeans off the bed and shook them out, stepping into them. Once he'd secured his erection away in the fabric, he zipped up the jeans, pulling the white shirt on over his shoulders. 
As he was buttoning the shirt, he noticed for the first time his reflection in the mirror. The sight came as a shock. There he stood, half-dressed in the mirror, the round, plastic power socket just below his sternum. But it was not Steve staring back at him from the mirror. No, it was High School Nathan standing there with the new surgical implant in his chest. 
Someone had shaved his face and trimmed his hair while he'd been unconscious. A brace of long-neglected teeth still filled his mouth, but the sight of his own clean-shaven face was something he'd almost forgotten. But it was more than just grooming, Steve realized, as he looked at himself in the mirror. The posture, the shape of his shoulders, the sight of himself standing at his full six-foot height. It was the old Nathan, not Steve. The Nathan who'd played J.V. Football and eaten three meals a day, and worried about things like homework and girl's phone numbers. It was the Nathan before he'd become Steve. The Steve that survived off scrounged food, that lived off the refuse of a society that had long given up on eating. 
It was Nathan in the mirror, not Steve, he realized as he buttoned up the shirt over his stem.
"There are some people we need to meet," Jude spoke, interrupting Steve's mediation.
"People?"
"If you're feeling up to it, of course." Jude slipped in beside Steve, putting an arm around his middle. She admired the reflection of the two of them together.
"Up for it? Sure, of course." Steve smiled at the mirror. "What people?"
"People," Jude replied, laying her head on Steve's shoulder. "People-people. You'll like them."
"People?" Steve hedged, feeling some almost forgotten tingle of bigotry. "Stem people?"
"Sweetie," Jude stepped away, picking up her purse. "There aren't any other kind of people."
Steve stood motionless, watching High School Nathan stare back at him from the mirror.
"You coming, Nathan?" Jude said from the hospital room door.
"Yeah, yeah sure," Nathan replied.





Chapter 5

The old tattoo parlor was just across the freeway on 45th. Elder Tull slipped down the east side of the building, where it didn't quite touch up against the next structure, and came out into the alleyway behind the parlor. There, a small set of stairs climbed up to the rear entrance. Elder was just starting up when the rear door opened suddenly. A handsome, well-dressed Stem emerged from the darkness within. Elder backed up and let the man exit, keeping his distance as the Stem skipped down the stairs. The man looked around nervously, adjusted his suit, and locked his focus on Elder.
"Fucking Pukes," he cursed at Elder and started off up the alley. Elder watched him exit the alley, the Stem's gaze dodging quickly here and there. Even the back of the Stem's head was handsome, Elder realized, as the perfectly styled haircut vanished around the corner. 
"Fucking Stems," Elder cursed after the man when he was sure the Stem was completely out of earshot. Elder turned back to the stairs and climbed them into the old tattoo parlor. 
Inside, the only light burning was the red bulb in the large picture window.
Sweet Beat was sitting on her stool in the window, lazily wrapped in nothing but a white sheet. She was smoking a cigarette, the kind the Stems smoked, a toxic mix of thick tobacco and high-powered pot. Sweet turned to look at Elder as he entered with the glassy eyes of someone who lacked the peptide inhibitors needed to handle the high-test weed. The Stems were almost immune to the stuff, many smoking two or three packs a day, but for Pukes, the cigarettes were caustic.
 "Sweet, how you doing?" Elder asked as he entered. Sweet Beat said nothing, taking another drag on her cigarette and turning back to look out the window. A thin stream of pedestrians passed by, each trying hard not to notice Beat's mostly naked shape bathed in the red light. "Did you hear about Steve? Cops got him. Eydie's back at the flat. She's in a bad way."
Sweet Beat said nothing. Elder coughed. Her silence was uncharacteristic. 'Sweet' Beat's name was something of a joke, like 'Little' John. Beatrice was anything but sweet. She must have been high, out of her mind wasted, not to say something. Steve. Cops. Stemmed. Elder coughed again. 
"You okay, Sweet?"
Was she high enough that Elder could just take some food? Would she even notice? It didn't pay to make that call wrong though, not with Sweet Beat, as the USMC and Semper Fi tattoos on her naked shoulders attested. 
"I..." Elder started and stopped, trying another tactic. "I talked to Kevin. He said that maybe... for Eydie... you see, she'll be hungry... soon..."
Beat had finished her cigarette. She dropped it on the wood floor and stomped it out with the heel of her black pump. She stood up, unceremoniously letting the sheet fall to the floor. She walked buck naked across the room and to a small purple refrigerator tucked away in the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and leaned forward, reaching in.
Something inside Elder leapt.
Elder was encouraged. The sight of Beat, naked, stirred him. He could feel her lean, half-Filipino frame light an old fire in his filthy jeans. He almost screamed with surprise and delight. Perhaps such things were not completely lost to him. He touched his crotch, hoping to help the feeling along, but pulled his hand away as Sweet came up out of the refrigerator with two foil bags in her hands. 
Best not to push your luck, Elder thought, enjoying the sight of Sweet Beat's front as much as he'd enjoyed the rear. Sweet closed the fridge and returned to the main room, handing the foil bags to Elder. She snapped up a dressing gown off the bed and pulled it over her shoulders, not bothering to tie it closed. She returned to her post on her stool by the window without a word.
Elder licked his lips, the sight of smoldering sex quickly trumped by the promise of a solid meal. 
The bags were ButtyNut, a mix of peanut butter, wheat and various nutritious spray vitamins the Government produced out of the goodness of its heart. One bag was supposed to be all the nutrition a Puke needed for a single day. 
It actually tasted pretty good. At least that's what Elder remembered from the few times he'd tried it. The Government supposedly made enough to feed the whole of the country's Puke population three times over, but distribution was so corrupt that very little of it ever made it into the hands of hungry Pukes. Most of it was snatched up by disreputable Stems, like the one Elder had encountered in the alley out back. Stems who used the food packets as currency – along with pot cigarettes – to pay for the sexual services of desperate Pukes. 
It was a fetish with some Stems. Something kinky. They reveled in the literal filth of violating an anus that still served a function. If Elder understood it correctly, ass-fucking was the most common form of sex amongst Stems, the orifice long ceasing to serve any other purpose. But to pump on an asshole that still had some utility...
Well, it was how Sweet Beat made her living.
Elder Tull was in no position to judge. Two whole servings of ButtyNut was quite the score. He thought about thanking Sweet, but guessed she wouldn't even hear him. 
It was taking all of Elder's willpower to fight back the urge to crack open the foil and start chowing down. But this score he'd get back to the flat and share with Eydie, he promised himself. 
After all, if there was still some life down there... if Elder was still some sort of man after all these years... perhaps Eydie might spend a little time showing Elder how grateful she was for the meal....
"You hear about the Potluck?" Beat said as Elder was turning to leave. The sound of her voice made Elder jump.
"Yeah, Kevin said," Elder replied.
"You coming?" Beat asked, looking back over her shoulder, glassy-eyed.
"Fuck yeah! Try and stop me!" 
"Bring Eydie, huh?" Beat was reaching for a pack of cigarettes beside her stool, groggily leaning, unbalanced on her seat. 
"Well, of course." 
"You hear Prime was in Bannock?" Sweet Beat had her smokes and pulled a cigarette out of the pack.
"What?" Elder asked in shock. Sweet might as well have said that the Prime Administrator had been to the North Pole to meet Santa Claus. "What did you just say?" Elder pressed.
But Beat had her new cigarette lit and had returned her attention to the picture window. Stems were moving by as Beat sat in the red light, her dressing gown open, hanging away from her breasts. Elder let himself out, chalking her talk up to the chronic.
Bannock, indeed. Why not say he'd been to the moon? Elder could almost taste the blue cheese...





Chapter 6

The tires of Jude's small go-kart of a sports car caught air as she crested the hill, hurtling towards the downtown core. Nathan screamed and grabbed frantically at the dash before him. The road twisted away before him down the hill, lit up with a chain of red brake lights. Jude wasn't slowing, shifting up into fourth as the watermelon-sized engine behind them whirred. She was laughing. At least, her face seemed to be making the expression of laughter. Nathan could hear nothing over the sound of his own shrieks. Jude made a hard right, and suddenly they were threading their way down a freeway on ramp that moments before had been completely invisible. 
They picked up more speed as Jude merged the low car into traffic. She changed lanes frantically, rapidly shifting, her beautiful blond hair snapping out and above the car's open top. The light fabric of her short skirt was riding high in the breeze, revealing more than a little extra thigh. 
They were heading north, over the canal bridge, back into the University District. Nathan was heading home. No, Steve was heading home... Nathan was living in the moment, watching the muscles of Jude's legs flex as she worked the car's clutch. 
It was almost too easy, Jude thought, as she turned her head to change lanes and caught a glimpse of where Nathan was staring. Though it wasn't exactly fair. With the remote control Jude had surreptitiously slipped into her purse, she could have dialed in any emotion for Nathan that she chose. Lust was easy, just a small hit of dopamine every time he glanced in Jude's direction. Two or three iterations and Nathan's brain would take over and supply the dopamine naturally on cue. Disgust would have been just as easy. Hate, horror, all were within her power. But only lust was any help to Jude right then. She needed Nathan controllable – controllable by her. And the anticipation of copulation would keep him well and truly focused until Jude decided to release the tension...
Once the whole deal was in the bag, once all the angles had played themselves out, once she knew exactly where she stood. And not until then...
But she knew she could never pull the deal off all on her own. 
While she'd waited at Nathan's bedside, while the nurses had shaved him, she'd fired off a dozen quick texts. It would be difficult to get a media war room setup at ten on a Friday night, but not impossible. She knew plenty of the right kind of people who'd get out of bed or excuse themselves from a night club, upon receiving a tersely-worded text. Wheels were in motion. While Jude had been handling a hysterical Nathan, things were being arranged. A single word on her phone had told her where the first meeting of the evening would be: "Dremel's" it had read. 
"So, who are these People-people?" Nathan asked as they pulled off the freeway, falling into the queue of traffic waiting on the light at 45th. Nathan was so taken with the view of Jude's creamy white thighs that he completely missed the sight of his friend Kevin standing at the exit, displaying his obtuse 'Food' sign. 
"Friends of mine," Jude lied. "Peters, he's with the Big U. And Waverly, he works for the paper." 
"Why do I want to meet them?" Nathan asked. The light changed, and the traffic shunted out onto 45th, but they had hardly moved a block before the traffic knitted up again, brake lights shining up the street towards the Ave. 
Jude flipped her transmission into neutral and leaned back in her chair with a soft sigh. "Oh, they want meet you, dear," Jude purred.
"The U?" Nathan asked with suspicion, turning his attention to the traffic in front of them. "The Party? I don't know..." 
Jude laughed. "Nathan, you're still thinking like a Puke."
"Well, I am," Nathan replied without thinking. 
Jude didn't answer. The traffic eased forward and Jude put her car into gear. They rolled on in silence until they came within sight of the corner of Brooklyn and 45th. There, a stage and the fluttering banners of a Brothers of Bannock Revival were erected. But the normal crowd of hungry Pukes gathered for the free handout was conspicuously absent. The instruments on the stage were quiet, and the pulpit empty of the expected fire and brimstone preacher. Instead, a few police officers in full SWAT gear were milling around the empty city lot, the flashing lights of their patrol cars casting shadows off the surrounding buildings. 
One officer was directing traffic around a large mobile command center, which blocked the oncoming lane. He waved Jude's car by and she revved the engine, taking the first right onto the Ave. 
"You know, I live around here," Nathan said, craning his neck around to look up the Ave, towards the flat he shared with Eydie and Elder Tull.
Eydie.
It suddenly hit Nathan. What had happened to Eydie? He remembered her clearing the fence, back at the Pizzeria, before the cops had tackled him, but had she made it home safe? Had she been stemmed, too? Nathan hadn't given her a second thought since waking up in the hospital. How could he do that? And here he was in a strange car with a strange woman. Eydie... a pang of guilt hit Nathan – Steve! Damn it, his name was Steve! How could he forget that? Steve and Eydie, it had always been Steve and Eydie. Always would be. What was he doing in this car with this woman? He looked at Jude, attempting not to let his face betray his emotions.
"Used to live here, sweetie," Jude replied. "This is the shithole part of town..."

#

The Puff Club was called Dremel's. It sat at the corner of 40th and the Ave. It was exactly the kind of place that Steve had always hated: a Stem bar. But here he was. Jude pulled her car to a halt in front of the valet and kicked open her door. Steve opened his more warily as the valet moved around the hood. The valet caught the bundle of keys Jude pitched into the air. Steve pulled himself out of the car and stepped up onto the curb. 
"What's wrong, Nathan?" Jude asked, noticing Steve's furtive glances up the street. She opened her purse and began to dig through it, seemingly looking for her cigarettes, but furtively looking at the readouts on the remote control. Nathan's alpha waves were spiking and his heart rate was elevated. 
"Nothing... no, nothing," Steve replied, turning to Jude with a faux smile. Jude timed it just right, tapping the Happy Button as Nathan's gaze fell on her. Almost instantly, the faux smile turned genuine. 
It really wasn't fair, Jude thought to herself as her hand came up out of the purse holding her cigarettes.
"No... nothing..." Nathan said, vaguely. There'd been something on his mind, he remembered, but then the sight of Jude's pretty, red lips had knocked it clean out of his head. "No. What?" he asked as Jude lit a cigarette.
"Nothing, come on," Jude turned, stepping towards the club. The tall doorman, dressed in a red silk uniform that looked to Nathan like a very expensive set of hospital scrubs, pulled open one of the solid glass doors. As the door opened, the Stem club released a thumping sonic boom out into the street.

#

The club was dark, maddeningly loud, and filled with impossibly thin, impossibly beautiful people. The deranged hospital theme hinted at by doorman's uniform continued in the interior décor. Large, illuminated x-ray plates of human body parts, painfully amalgamated with machinery, hung on the walls. A human skull with a toy truck rammed into the brain pan hung by the door. Various arms and legs held together with metal pins could be made out through the club's smoky haze. 
Nathan coughed as he took his first breath of the warm, thick, choking atmosphere. The whole club was packed, and not a single person was without a cigarette, except Nathan. He choked down a retch as sweat began to bead on his brow. Out in the dark, booming, churning mass of the dance floor, each and every Stem was exhaling billowing clouds of cigarette smoke. Nathan couldn't breathe. A Puff Club, indeed. Nathan realized the significance of the term had never really dawned on him. Puff Club: puff, puff, puff. Nathan struggled for the door, stepping out and sucking in a lungful of cold, clean air.
The Stems didn't eat, they didn't drink, their only vice was their caustic cigarettes. 
A hand gently touched Nathan's back. "Are you okay, Nathan?" Jude asked.
"Can't breathe," Nathan choked.
"I know. It's a bit much at first, but give it a few minutes and you'll get used to it." Nathan pulled himself vertical and turned to face Jude. She'd shed her coat and purse at the hatcheck and stood in the doorway to the club in just her light skirt and shirt. She was moving slightly to the dance floor's beat, swaying on her high heels. She held up her pack of cigarettes and offered one out to Nathan. "Here, take one yourself. It's easier to breathe when you're behind a filter."
Nathan reached up and pulled a single, white cigarette from the pack. He held it before his eyes, examining it like it was an alien artifact. 
Jude's other hand came up holding a Zippo. A quick flick and the lighter spouted fire.
Nathan put the cigarette between his lips and leaned forward slightly, lighting its end. He took a long, slow drag, letting the sweet, acrid smoke fill his lungs.
"Better?" Jude asked, flipping the lighter closed.
"Yeah," Nathan said, letting out a lungful of smoke.
Jude smiled a sly, sexy smirk, and pirouetted on the toes of her high heels. She tossed back her hair and danced forward, letting the metronomic beat of the dance music move her hips.

#

Elder Tull walked north up the Ave with a foil bag of ButtyNut in each hand. He smiled a grin full of rotten teeth, muttering quietly to himself. He was pleased about his score. He was pleased about the once-forgotten feeling down in his old, dirty blue jeans. He was pleased about the prospect of the impending Potluck. 
He was happy – about as happy as a Puke could get. He'd almost completely forgotten about Steve and his horrible fate at the hands of the Seattle Police. What good would it do to dwell upon it? Elder asked himself. Shit happened. Life was for the living. Steve was gone. Eydie was distraught, but that would pass. Elder had a solid meal and good news to tell her. Yes, Elder had almost completely forgotten about Steve and his fate.
Until Elder caught sight of him.
Elder stumbled and almost dropped his bags of ButtyNut on the sidewalk. A Stem walking behind Elder narrowly avoided tripping over him, doing a quick two-step to avoid any chance of physical contact. 
Across the street, in front of some Stem Puff Club, was Steve. His hair had been cut and his face shaved, and he was wearing a set of newly laundered clothes, but it was Steve alright. A young, impossibly thin blonde was offering him a cigarette from a pack. Steve reached up and took one, letting the Stem light it for him. Steve let out a lungful of smoke as the tiny blonde girl started dancing up the steps of the club. Steve followed, watching the firm curves of the girl's ass.
Elder panicked, diving for the cover of a doorway. Steve was back. Steve was back! Elder screamed inside. He'd come back for Eydie. He panted in shock, holding the foil bags of ButtyNut in angry fists. He stole a glance around the corner of the doorway, up the street to where a man in red pajamas stood in front of the Puff Club's doors. Steve had gone inside – into the Stem club... and then the realization hit Elder. Yeah, Steve was back alright... the dirty, fucking Stem.
Elder sprinted across the street, through traffic and into an alleyway. He splashed through puddles to where the alley bent back behind the Puff Club. There sat a dumpster. Elder quickly hid his foil bags of ButtyNut under it, covering them with a broken section of a black, molded container lid. He did a quick scan of his surroundings for anything that might serve as a weapon. A rusty section of an old steel drainpipe came loose off the wall with a tug and a gush of brown water. He held a good three feet of it and tested the weight in his hands. 
Happy with his new weapon, he retraced his steps back to the mouth of the alleyway. He rested the pipe against the brickwork and attempted to collect himself. As naturally as he could muster, he walked the few short steps up to and past the glass windows of the Puff Club. Dremel's, the sign over the door said. Elder strained against the glare of the streetlights to see through the tinted glass of the club windows. Lights flashed inside, and he could make out what looked like large, illuminated x-rays. But the club was so smoky... 
Then, under what looked like a large x-ray of a gum-ball machine, Elder saw him: Steve, with the small, blonde woman and two other men. One man looked foppish, with a mop of white hair and heavy, horned-rimmed spectacles. The other had his back to the window, but the recognition was almost instantaneous. Elder would have recognized the handsome back of that head anywhere: the well dressed Stem from behind Beat's old tattoo parlor. It had to be him. 
Elder stepped away from the window before the red pajama-wearing doorman grew suspicious. He turned and headed back to the alleyway, retrieving his section of metal drainpipe. He turned and leaned against the wall, making sure he had a panoramic view of the club's glass doors. Satisfied, he made himself comfortable, hiding the pipe behind his right leg. 
Fucking Steve is fucking back, Elder cursed to himself. Not even stemmed for half a day and Steve was already back on the Ave, socializing in a Puff Club. There could be only one reason. They'd be in there plotting it right now. Elder could almost hear their conversation. Steve had come back for Eydie – he planned to make her like him. It was the same with all the fucking Stems. They'd never be happy until everyone was like them. 
Well, Elder wasn't going to stand for it. Steve or not, no one was going to get to Eydie. Not when everything was starting to go so well for Elder. It was his job, after all, to take care of her. He was the man now, Eydie was his woman. Alright, maybe he wasn't quite ready to show her exactly how, but it didn't change the fact that Eydie belonged to Elder now. Steve could go fuck himself. 
The Stems should just leave the Pukes alone. Elder would make Steve leave Eydie alone. He'd wait there until Steve came out of that club and then... well, Steve would never see it coming.





Chapter 7

Jude could dance, Nathan thought, as he followed her across the dance floor. He was still at a loss to guess her true age. She moved like a sprightly teenager, writhing her toned, young body. But Nathan knew she was no child. 
Watching her unnaturally thin figure and her high, pert breasts made Nathan feel good. The music made Nathan feel good. The taste of the cigarette made him feel good. The warm, sweat of the dancing bodies around him made him feel good. Nathan could not remember ever feeling so good – so alive. He'd been so lost for so many years. But now he was alive and he wanted to live. He took another drag off his cigarette and held in his breath. When he finally let it out, he wanted to scream. In the din of the club no one could hear him, so he did: he screamed. Like a wolf baying to the moon, he let out a loud howl. Jude took his hand and led him off the dance floor, not pausing in her rhythmic dance. 
At a high table in a quieter corner of the club, before an x-ray of a human head that appeared to be full of gum balls, sat two men smoking cigars. One was odd-looking, with a Beatles mop of white hair and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses. The other was handsome and young, with wide shoulders, wearing a suit that cost at least ten thousand dollars. Jude greeted them with a warm hello, and hugged each in turn.
"Mr. Pope," the young, handsome man began, shaking Nathan's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Peters. Donald Peters. I realize it's been a difficult day, but I'm glad you were able to find the time to meet with us. This is Andrew Waverly." He gestured to the other man. "He's with the Post-Examiner." Nathan held out a hand, and the man named Waverly shook it limply.
There was a silence, like the table was expecting Nathan to speak. "I... I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here," he managed.
The table found this amusing.
While Nathan and Jude found their seats, Peters continued. "Mr. Pope. Nathan. May I call you Nathan? Your confusion is quite understandable. You might not know us, but we know you quite well. You're about to become an important man, Nathan, and we're here to help you through the... transition. Like Jude here." He pointed at Jude sitting next to Nathan, who was dancing slightly in her chair. She smiled. "Perhaps it's best that you think of us as your therapists – assistants to Jude. Though not nearly as attractive." Even in the indirect light of the glowing skull gum ball machine, Nathan could see Jude blush.
"I–" Nathan began, but Waverly interrupted, picking up on Peters' thought like a tag team.
"You see, Peters here is with the Universal Party," Waverly's voice was high and tight, like a singing bird, "and I am, as my friend already mentioned, with the Paper. Your story, Mr. Pope... you see, your story is unique. There will be a lot of interest in your story these coming days, and we feel that it is in everyone's best interest – yours and the whole nation's – to make sure your voice is heard – that the story told is your story. Do you understand, Mr. Pope?"
"No, not real–" 
Peters took the hand-off. "We understand the gravity of what has happened to you, today. We understand that a great injustice has befallen you. You've had your civil rights trampled upon, Nathan, and we, at the Universal Party, acknowledge this. You must accept an apology from none other than the President of the United States of America himself for the shoddy treatment you've received at the hands of law enforcement. It was unforgivable."
"What? The stem?" Nathan asked, not quite catching the thread. He finished his cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray in the center of the table. Before he had a chance to wonder what to do with his idle hands, a waitress was beside him, offering him a large cigar from a silver cup. It was the sort both Peters and Waverly were smoking. Nathan accepted one and looked it over, unsure of exactly how to attack such a foreboding item. 
"While we cannot– and for the Lord's sake we wish we could – roll back time and undo the damage done to you," Peters continued, ignoring Nathan, "we can assure you that from this day on, forcible stem implantation in the United States has come to an end. By Presidential Order, today, the violation of your civil rights will never again be repeated."
"Really?" Nathan said, raising the unlit cigar to his mouth and clamping it between his teeth. "That's great." And it was. On a conscious level, Nathan understood that such a thing meant a great social victory for Pukes everywhere. But on a gut level... well, Nathan couldn't summon up any excitement. How he was going to light his cigar seemed like a far more pressing, significant problem.
Jude took the cigar gently out of Nathan's mouth and put it in her own. She bit off its tip and flipped open her Zippo. As Waverly picked up the narrative, Jude fired the cigar to life, puffing away until the thick tip was fully ablaze.
"So you can understand why you're so special, Mr. Pope. You, very likely, are the last of your kind: the last Puke to be forcibly converted. While the President might have the power to implement his Executive Order, it still constitutes a policy that needs to be sold to the American Public. I won't lie to you, Mr. Pope, forcible implantation was always popular with values voters. And to see Pukes suffering everyday in the streets of cities like Seattle... well, the public wants to see their Government doing something..."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following," Nathan shook his head. Jude returned the cigar, now fully lit, and Nathan took a long, satisfying puff. 
The table was silent. The heavy drum beat boomed on in the club behind them. Nathan smoked his cigar.
"You see," Peters began again. "If the Supreme Court of the United States dictates forcible implantation to be unconstitutional... then, the hands of law enforcement in America are tied. If the police are unable to arrest Pukes and process them through the same criminal justice system as normal Americans, it raises Pukes to a level that is somewhere above the law. And for their own good, Pukes need to be policed. What with everything and anything edible so scarce, Pukes have little choice but to fight and steal for every last scrap of food. That's why, in the Presidential Order banning forcible stem implantation, there is also a proviso for the stewardship of all the remaining Pukes in the Continental United States."
"Sorry, 'stewardship'?" Nathan leaned forward, figuring he missed something due to the thumping music.
"Yes," Waverly added. "Stewardship. Housing. Group housing."
"Housing? All the Pukes? What? Buying them condos?" Nathan laughed.
"No, no..." Waverly hedged. "There will be... camps."
Nathan could do little more than blink.
"There are so few Pukes left, after all," Waverly quickly tried to explain. "Official figures number them at less than ten thousand. Seattle has as few as two hundred. It's a fringe element, really. A rounding anomaly on the census figures. They will be easier to feed and clothe once they're centrally located. It's for their own good, really. As you well know, malnutrition is simply rampant amongst the Pukes. In camps, the Government will be able to provide them with a fully-balanced diet, at a reasonable cost to the American taxpayer. It makes sense, really. We should have done it years ago, if you think about it. It's a kindness. To leave Pukes to starve to death on the streets of our cities. Letting them fight like dogs for what little scraps of edible material is left on the planet. How can we consider ourselves a humane society and let such an abomination persist?"
"But..." Nathan looked at the burning ember at the end of his cigar. "Camps? Concentration Camps?"
"Internment camps," Peters interjected. "There is a historical precedent. The Japanese during World War Two. All determined to be completely constitutional, I might add." Peters shifted in his seat. "And as Waverly said, it's the only way to ensure proper nutrition for each and every remaining Puke. Do you know there are Pukes who have children? And they refuse to get them stemmed? Now, not being stemmed yourself, I can forgive. You're free to believe whatever crazy garbage you choose, this is a free country, but when you start making children suffer for your outlandish beliefs... there I draw the line. I think it's the responsibility of good Government to draw that line for people."
"And these... internment camps... this is what you need me to sell?" It washed over Nathan like a sickening wave. Suddenly, the cigar tasted bitter in his mouth. He took it out and rested it on the ashtray.
Waverly picked up the pieces. "Everyone understands that this will be for the Pukes' own good. Some people, perhaps, will be uncomfortable with the historical connotations. The Government will need to address this unease. As the last forcibly stemmed Puke, you have a unique voice. You can speak to the wretched state in which the Pukes of this country are forced to live. You can speak about your life after being implanted, how it sits in contrast to your life before. You can help a disquieted nation understand the moral complexities of a situation with no fast and easy answers. Of course, the question is: will you?"
Peters continued. "Okay, Nathan, I'll level with you. What Waverly is saying here is absolutely correct, but there's a brass tacks, no bullshit level to this situation. This stewardship, it can go one of two ways: the easy way or the hard way. Not six hours ago, you were a Puke. You, more than anyone else understand their situation. You, more than anyone else can predict what will happen when policemen start knocking on doors. You have a special responsibility here, Nathan, to both the old world from which you came and the new one you are about to enter. 
"The Stewardship Directive will be implemented. Of that there's no doubt. It's policy now, with the full political backing of the Big U. How it is implemented, Nathan, will depend greatly on you. 
"There's an easy and peaceful scenario, Nathan, with the soothing voice of a former Puke reassuring a nation that the Government is acting in the best interest of all parties involved. And there's a hard and violent scenario, Nathan, with fighting in the streets, and good, honest Americans left cowering in their homes, quick to accept whatever harsh measures the Government employs to see that the law of the land is fully executed. You, Nathan, more than anyone, can decide which scenario will play out in the streets of this great nation. You have the power to decide. Which will it be: easy and peaceful, or hard and violent? It will fall on your head, Nathan."
"Then, no pressure." Nathan tried to chuckle.
"As I said, you need to think of us as your therapists, Nathan. We're here to help – here to get you through this difficult time. It's important that your voice gets heard. There will be people wanting to put words in your mouth. You have to speak, Nathan. You. Only you understand what the Pukes will be going through. You'll have the ear of the nation. You can't underestimate how powerful that will make you. People will attempt to use you for their own ends. Think of us as your advisors, Nathan, the three of us here. You're about to jump into a shark tank, Nathan. You'll need the best around you. And Nathan, I can say without the fear of contradiction, that the team that sits before you is the best."
Nathan couldn't speak. He picked up his cigar and attempted to puff it, but it had gone out. He put it back in the ashtray and tried to find something to do with his hands. He could feel the eyes of everyone watching him. The glare of the x-rayed gum ball machine skull was hurting his eyes. He felt like he needed to get up and walk around.
Then, out through the glass windows behind Peters, Nathan saw him. 
Elder Tull, looking in, straining to see through the tinted glass.
He was only there for a moment. He seemed to see what he wanted and then scurried off down the street. There could be no way that he had missed Nathan, sitting at the table associating with three Stems. A wave of shame and paranoia hit Steve. What if Elder told Eydie? What if he told Kevin and Beat and the Prime Administrator? What had Steve done? Why had he agreed to come here? He had to warn them. The government was planning to round them all up. They had to get away, leave the city. Now. This minute! 
Steve began to excuse himself when a notion of what Elder Tull was doing outside, looking through that window, hit him. What would Steve had done in Elder's place? If he'd caught Elder sitting at a table, smoking cigars with a bunch of Stems? With the enemy? He'd have killed him on sight, of course. Steve didn't even have to think about it. It was automatic: stopping the contagion before it spread.
Carefully, Steve lowered himself back down into his seat. It would be unwise to step out into the street for many hours to come. Not without a healthy escort.
Something below the table began to buzz. Only Jude noticed over the din of the music. It was the remote control that she'd removed from her purse and tucked into the waistband of her panties. The buzz tickled, but she took the stimulation as nothing but bad news. Nathan's stem had registered a critical shift in his biometrics. 
It could mean only one thing: the onset of Stem Shock. He was crashing. She'd pushed him too hard too fast, Jude realized, pulled him out of the hospital too quickly. And Peters with his 'the whole world is on your shoulders speech' hadn't helped. What Nathan needed was a quick punch of seratonin – a couple stabs at the Happy Button. But Jude couldn't risk Nathan seeing her with the remote in such an intimate situation. She'd told him she'd left it behind in the hospital room. It'd be a breach of trust if he suddenly found it in her hand. 
Luckily, there was more than one Happy Button for Jude to push. She reached over, under the table, and firmly grabbed Nathan's crotch in her hand. Almost instantly, his cock hardened to her touch. She gave it a couple good tugs, then massaged the bridge of it with the ball of her hand. Nathan looked away from the window where he'd been staring forlornly, and looked at Jude with a surprised smile. 
"Nathan? You're hard to read right now..." Peter said. He was either ignorant or indifferent to Nathan's stimulation. "I need a sense of how you feel about all of this. With or without you, things are going to move forward. Waverly and I need to leave here with an idea of what part you're going to play in the coming days. No one can make this decision but you, Nathan, but I'm afraid you do have to make the decision quickly..." 
Nathan turned to look back out the window as Jude's hand worked away under the table.
"Well? Nathan? Nathan?" Peters pushed.
"There's someone outside in the street waiting to kill me," Nathan finally replied, turning to look Peters square in the eye. 





Chapter 8

Elder Tull hadn't expected his little murder to take so long. 
He waited patiently at the mouth of the alleyway, the drainpipe hidden behind his right leg. He kept his eyes fixed on the door of the Puff Club, waiting for Steve's inevitable appearance. But as minutes stretched together to make an hour, Elder began to shift uncomfortably on his feet. He was getting hungry again and his earlier meal of doughy bread and cheese curds was not sitting well. If he had to wait much longer, he'd be forced to take a shit in the alleyway. Even for Elder Tull, that was a low move. 
Fucking Steve, Elder cursed, just stick your head out the door so I can cave it in. 
The chain of police lights that slowly began to appear north up the Ave told Elder that perhaps he was never going to get his chance. 
When the first patrol car pulled up in front of the Puff Club, Elder remained motionless. Perhaps the police were there for some completely unrelated disturbance. Elder kicked the old drainpipe over and let it clatter to the blacktop. It was almost invisible amongst the garbage in the alley. 
When three more patrol cars pulled up, followed by the cop's mobile command center, Elder realized his plan was well and truly shit-canned. He scurried out of sight into the alley and retrieved the two foil bags of ButtyNut from under the dumpster. He hurried around the alley's bend until it brought him out on 42nd. Behind him, he heard boots striking pavement and police radios. 
He turned right onto Brooklyn, avoiding the Ave. He thought he'd miss most of the police in that direction, but quickly regretted the choice when he hit 45th. The empty lot that had earlier played host to the Brothers of Bannock Revival was now a crime scene with police tape and SWAT members encircling the stage. Elder tried to play it cool, and jaywalked right in front of a policeman directing traffic. Panicking, he broke his step and ran, fleeing towards the Ave and shuffling around the corner with the two packets of ButtyNut still in his hands. 
When he was out of sight, he slowed to a trot and continued up to the doorway of his apartment. He pushed quickly through the front door. The lock was long broken and the handle misplaced by Elder many months ago, so the door hung half open unable to latch. This made quick escapes from the police with both hands full of scran particularly easy. A scenario that, until that moment, Elder had never considered important.
Up the stairs, Elder juggled the foil sacks as he pulled the door key to the apartment out from his front pocket. With a bag of ButtyNut under his left armpit, Elder hurriedly let himself inside, latching the door closed behind him.
Eydie hadn't moved from her fetal position on the dirty mattress by the window. 
She was asleep, or unconscious, or something. Elder didn't check. He dropped down onto his own mattress and fumbled with the seal of the first ButtyNut bag. The events of the day were instantly forgotten as the thought of another meal consumed Elder. 
The vacuum seal of the foil bag opened with a hiss. Elder was rewarded with a distinct aroma of sugary peanuts. His mouth watered and he licked away saliva that quickly began to build in his scraggly beard. He squeezed the foil and a sausage of ButtyNut protruded out into the air like a horse's penis. Despite the mental image, Elder bit down on the brown goo with as grand a bite as his cracked lips would allow him. He chewed ravenously, gulping as the sticky ooze slid down his throat. 
It was delicious! Heaven! Elder could not remember tasting anything so exquisite. Three quick bites and his maw was full again. He sat akimbo on his mattress and chewed, looking at Eydie's still form.
He would not eat the second ButtyNut, Elder told himself, he would not. He was going to save it for Eydie for when she awoke. Instantly, Elder knew he didn't have the self-control to follow through with such a promise, and considered waking Eydie before he had the chance to succumb to his base urges. He decided against it and instead resolved to hide the second ButtyNut bag away where he wouldn't be tempted. He temporarily rested his opened sack on his mattress, climbed to his feet and picked up the unopened container. This, he carried into the kitchenette and deposited into the small fridge, next to the strange gray ooze he'd made a sandwich out of earlier that day.
Quickly, Elder returned to his mattress and gobbled up the rest of his ButtyNut. He should eat slower, he realized, and savor the meal. But it was only a passing fancy. Soon the last of the peanuty, sugary, delicious mass was devoured, and Elder was satisfied. As satisfied as Elder Tull could remember being for a long, long time. 
The events of earlier – Steve, the Puff Club, the Potluck, the Brothers of Bannock – had all been forgotten. The totality of a full belly consumed Elder. He stretched out on his mattress and yawned a contented yawn. His heavy eyelids fell and the exhaustion of the day overwhelmed him. Almost instantly, he was asleep.
Perhaps the sirens in the street outside should have concerned Elder Tull. Perhaps the sight of Steve sitting, smoking with Stems. should have inclined him to abandon the apartment he had so recently shared with the obvious traitor. But none of these thoughts invaded Elder's slumber. For the first time in a long time, Elder's belly was full, and nothing else mattered. 
Elder began to snore lightly, curled up on his filthy, sweat-stained mattress. 

#

 Calling the cops had been a calculated risk; a risk Jude quickly began to regret taking. 
If there really had been some unseen assailant waiting in the street to assault Nathan, or if the paranoia was simply a symptom of Stem Shock, Jude would never know. Stepping away from the table, Jude had risked checking the dials on her stem remote. The red light of the critical alert had turned to green. From the biometrics of Nathan's stem, he seemed to be healthy and at least remotely in his right mind. He was sexually aroused at most; as well he should be, with all the work Jude had been doing on his cock. 
It was Peters who eventually made the call, bring a fleet of police cruisers down the Ave less than a minute after he dialed 911. They had been just around the corner, after all, mopping up the remains of the Bannock Revival. The police had searched the streets for three blocks in all directions, but came up clean. If there'd been an assailant waiting for Nathan, he was long gone. After the scene was declared safe, the officers began asking questions – the sort of questions Jude would have rather not answered. 
She could almost feel the situation moving up the chain of command. First, a Watch Sergeant appeared in a patrol car and took control of the scene. But he was quickly followed by a Police Captain in an unmarked car, squealing to a halt on the street outside. Jude had not had a chance to brief Nathan, explain to him how to answer the torrent of questions unloaded on him, so he'd simply answered the questions honestly... the fool. When the cops started to get a whiff of exactly who Nathan was, Jude felt the whole deal slipping through her fingers. 
If she lost control of the situation, she'd lose control of Nathan and the whole multi-million dollar deal would be out the window.
When the deputy Mayor arrived less than half an hour later, flanked by his personal security, Jude knew she'd have to act. She could see Peters and Waverly coming to the same conclusion, standing in a dark corner of the club, making numerous, terse phone calls. If the cops got to Nathan, if they were able to cut Jude out – the threat from some invisible attacker would be just the excuse they'd need – they could control access to Nathan for his own 'safety': media, politicians... everything Jude had been hoping to accomplish for herself. 
 After a lengthy debate, the Mayor's security team insisted on moving Nathan. Jude was quick to insinuate herself. Nathan was horny enough not to object; he even demanded Jude's presence. As the town car arrived to whisk Nathan off to some undisclosed location, Jude kept tight hold of Nathan's hand. They ran together from the cover of the Puff Club and into the backseat of the long, plush, bulletproof car. 
As they were speeding away, followed by the flashing lights of a police motorcycle escort, Jude kissed Nathan hungrily. Nathan was momentarily surprised, but he quickly began kissing her back. Soon she was astride him, bouncing softly on his lap, exploring his mouth with her tongue. He had her shirt open, cupping her firm breasts through the thin bra. As the town car pulled onto the freeway, heading back towards the downtown core, Jude was on her knees fumbling with buttons and zippers. She took Nathan into her mouth, where he quickly reached a gushing climax. It was an orgasm like nothing Nathan could remember... helped along, perhaps, by a timely nudge on the Happy Button by Jude. 
Nathan collapsed across the backseat, spent. 
"Won't that short circuit your stem or something?" Nathan chuckled as Jude licked her lips, pulling herself up onto the backseat beside him.
"Common misconception, even among the implanted," Jude said, not totally forgetting her duties as Nathan's midwife. "The Whole Life Interface doesn't preclude eating and drinking. It just makes it unnecessary. It's always been a backup subroutine in all stem versions from the very beginning, should an implantee find themselves without any source of electrical energy." Jude lay down on the large seat next to Nathan, curling up into the notch formed by his body. He rested a hand on her smooth thigh.
"Stems can eat? They just don't want to?"
"Don't need to, no," Jude corrected. "But should it be necessary, the WLI can draw energy from consumed matter."
Nathan found this funny, chuckling softly into Jude's soft, sweet-smelling hair. "But you'd rather just plug into a wall?"
"Of course," Jude replied sleepily. "Who wouldn't? It's clean, produces no waste, and with the network of fusion reactors–" Jude stopped herself, twisting to face Nathan and raising herself up onto her elbow. "You know you're a Stem now, don't you? You can stop referring to 'them' in the third person. And no one but a Puke would call anyone a 'Stem'. It's foolish, like calling people 'humans.'"
Nathan was a little taken aback, but any irritation he felt was soon lost in the pleasant warmth of the afterglow. He brushed a stray hair away from Jude's face and smiled. "I'm sorry, it's all still so new."
Jude twisted again, back to spooning, and lay her head down on the seat. "I'm sorry, too. I haven't been doing my job very well. This isn't how it normally goes, you understand... the process of transitioning a new implant recipient..."
"You mean you don't provide this service to all your clients?" Nathan smirked. Jude elbowed him in the ribs. 
"You're special, Nathan," Jude purred. 
"Yes, so everyone keeps telling me. Was everything back there on the level? What Peters and Waverly were saying?"
"Oh, yes."
"Then this is really the end? For all the Pukes?"
"Not the end, sweetheart. A new beginning. They'll be better off, you understand, where the Government can feed them."
"But it's so... final." The car was slowing, pulling off the freeway. 
"We're almost there. Better get dressed," Jude said, sitting up, re-buttoning her shirt. 
"Where are we going?" Nathan finally thought to ask as he zipped up his pants.
"I don't know," Jude said honestly.
"What?"
"I don't know." Jude looked at herself in the reflection of the side window. She was tussled, but otherwise presentable. "It's complicated. This is the work of the Mayor's office. Some secure location. If there's a real threat on your life, you'll be safe here."
"Mayor?"
"It's complicated," Jude repeated.
"You'll be with me, though, right?" Nathan said, looking out the window. The town car was on the surface streets of the downtown, stopped at a red light. "I mean, you're not going away?" 
Jude smiled and took Nathan's hand reassuringly. It was what she'd hoped to hear. Below her, on the floor of the town car, she gave the small remote a shove with her toe, knocking it out of sight under the front seat. She wouldn't be needing it anymore, she thought, the situation was now under her control.
Well worth taking a shot in the mouth for, Jude pondered silently.





Chapter 9

The Prime Administrator had the dubious distinction of being the world's only fat Puke. He stood six foot six, and weighed in at over three hundred pounds. He looked out at the world through a classic pair of corrective aviator-style spectacles, and over a thick beard he kept neatly trimmed. 
It was only those that remembered Prime from his college days, like Elder, Steve and Kevin, who called him the Prime Administrator. To everyone else, he was known as Leatherface, after the Texas cannibal. Rumor was that Prime was able to maintain his robust physique by luring, murdering, and then consuming Stems by the dozen. It was a preposterous notion to anyone who actually knew Prime: he'd never even touch a Stem, no less eat one. He'd always been the most militant anti-Stem Puke Elder had ever known.
Once upon a time, Madame Damnable's had been a cozy basement pub just off campus, hangout to a mix of students, beatniks and bohemians. It sat derelict now, as the Ave had been overtaken by Puff Clubs and Smoke Shops, catering to the Stems. With a crowbar, however, and a little electrical work, Madame Damnable's could be restored to some shade of its former glory. For Prime's Potluck, he had done just that, prying off the plywood that covered the top of the old pub's long stairway entrance, and changing out a slew of old, broken light bulbs with small, efficient fluorescent tubes.
Prime stood behind the bar, dressed in a large, loud Hawaiian shirt, sipping grain alcohol from a martini glass, and laughing at his own jokes.
Everyone was there – possibly every Puke in the City of Seattle. The barroom floor was shoulder to shoulder as Pukes lined up to help themselves to the sumptuous buffet Prime had laid out on a series of folding tables. Everything from bread to cheese to meat was in attendance. A keg of something mildly honey-tasting had been pumped into one of the bar's old taps, and bottles of Prime's grain liquor sat on the dusty shelf behind him. 
Reportedly, all of it had come from Bannock. Prime had actually visited the fantasy realm and returned with the bounty. Curious and tantalized by the idea that Bannock was a real, physical place, Elder had almost forgotten to line up to sample the buffet. Luckily, good sense had gotten the better of him, and it wasn't until he had two plastic plates full of food – one for him and one for Eydie – that he returned to the bar to question Prime in regards to Bannock's actual existence.
"Stupid bastard! Serves him right for getting his ass arrested!" Prime was saying – yelling – as Elder Tull approached the bar. He was speaking to – at Eydie. She was sitting on a stool at the bar, curled up in an oversized hoodie sweatshirt. Elder slipped one of his plates in front of her, hoping for some sign of life. Eydie sat motionless, staring down at the floor.
"Shut the fuck up, Prime..." Sweet Beat replied, standing over Eydie, attempting to comfort her. Sweet was dressed in a pair of Mickey Mouse hot pants and a heavy duffel coat. Kevin was keeping a respectful distance at the end of the bar, a glass of Prime's grain hooch in his hand. The whole of the old gang was there: Elder Tull, the Prime Administrator, Eydie, Sweet Beat and Kevin. Everyone, except Steve.
"Eat, Eydie, you've got to eat," Elder said. He took his own advice and bit a large chunk off a slice of buttered bread. 
"You can cry in your beer, Eydie, or you can get on with life," Prime continued. "If Steve's a Stem... well, then he's one of them. It's not worth mourning one of them." Prime finished off his glass and reached back for a bottle.
"Prime, why do you have to be such a fucking prick?" Beat said, rubbing Eydie's back soothingly. 
"Facts are facts," Prime added, pouring himself a healthy measure of clear liquid.
"Come on, Prime, it was Steve..." Kevin spoke up.
"I know. I've never had a better friend," Prime mused. "But he's a Stem now. Do I have to tell you all what that means? Fuck him, I say, fuck him."
Suddenly, it hit Elder like lightning. The memory of what he had seen the evening before: Steve in the Puff Club with the Stems. Elder opened his mouth, but hesitated. What little tact Elder still had hidden beneath his scruffy, soiled exterior held his tongue. He instead filled his mouth with a large spoonful of lima beans. 
Perhaps if Elder had spoken up then, he might have saved a few lives.
But instead, Elder chewed. Chewed and chewed. He never remembered liking lima beans, but these were delicious...
"You know what, Prime?" Beat thrust an accusatory finger over the bar. "Fuck you–" 
She would have continued heaping insults on Prime had Eydie not suddenly and unexpectedly moved. It wasn't much, just the motion of her head and a hand reaching out for the buttered bread on the plate in front of her. But it was the first sign of life anyone had seen from her all day.

#

Each and every Puke had his reasons for resisting implantation, and the motivations of Elder's friends were no less varied. 
Prime was the most easily comprehensible case: a combination of classically liberal values mixed with a good measure of Area 51/Kennedy Assassination paranoia. To Prime, the whole thing was a vast conspiracy. But answers to "by who?" and "why?" he never really pinned down. 
Perhaps it was inevitable that Prime would stand in counterpoint to whatever great social revolution arrived in America. Even back in college, where he'd run the computer lab that had bestowed on him his particular name, he'd been against most everything: environmentalism, war, peace, social justice, welfare, affirmative action – he was against it all. Give Prime a cause, and you could count on him to oppose it. Any cause, that is, that didn't fit with his libertarian, Ayn Randian, objectivist world view – which meant pretty much everything.
When the WLI was invented, it was like the coming of the Apocalypse for Prime. The signs had been all around him, and now the four horsemen had arrived. His natural inclination to mistrust all grand plans for human betterment went into hyper drive. It took a strong will and a great deal of alcohol to stop Prime from going full militant and blowing himself up on a bus... 
But his views touched everyone around him in various ways that they might not have been able to verbalize. In a way, Prime gave a voice to everyone's unspoken concerns about the rapidity and totality of the stem's adoption amongst their peers. 
He might have been a bat-shit crazy, paranoid, conspiracy theorizing gun nut, but that didn't make him wrong.
If Prime was the idealist, then Eydie had always been the pragmatist. She was almost the polar opposite of Prime politically. In college, she'd given up a promising career in Bioinformatics after her lab had been segregated along Stem/Puke lines. She'd realized she was witnessing a new stratification of American society and instantly knew she'd never be able to count herself on the side of the preferred class. 
In the intervening years, the validity of her observations were proven correct time after time. At first, it was simple social segregation: Stem lab space and Puke lab space where Stems wouldn't be distracted by the smells and sounds of the Pukes. But soon it became political policy: hiring and occupancy laws targeting Pukes, restricting their occupations and areas of residence, rationalized under the guise of health concerns and sanitation. Pukes, after all, had significantly poorer health and higher medical costs than Stems, and required outmoded and ill-maintained sewer facilities to properly manage their waste. 
That society's final solution to the Puke Problem was already underway, moving silently above Eydie's head, breaching the upper floors of the building above Madame Damnable's, would have come as little surprise to Eydie. Like Prime, she'd foreseen such an end from the very beginning, though perhaps for very different reasons. History had taught Eydie that the story never ended well for the lower strata of any segregated society. Not well at all. 
For Sweet Beat, being a Puke was more personal. She'd been raised an army brat, flitting around the globe with her Major General father. Her mother had checked out early in her life, and Sweet Beat had practically been raised by the Marine Corps. At eighteen, she'd signed on the dotted line just in time for the troubles in South America. She'd seen more than a belly full of combat, and returned to the States a brevet Captain. 
She'd returned, however, to an America that was rapidly changing, taking the Marine Corps with it. In a high-level, Stem-backed shuffle, her father had been squeezed out, dishonorably discharged on some trumped up charge. He'd taken his own life only three weeks after Beat had returned stateside. 
She didn't even have to desert – the new, Stem-powered Marine Corps had no place for her. 
In the abandoned, cobwebbed filled upper floors of Madame Damnable's, dark, gas mask-cowled figures took a knee and listened intently to ear buds for a 'go' signal. Weapon loadouts were checked, and gas canisters removed from webbing pouches. Below them, the unmistakable sounds of a celebration rose up through the floor.
For Kevin, at least in the beginning, his opposition to the stem had been religious. Steeped in his Southern Baptist heritage, he'd deferred early on to the teachings of his church. America's conservative, moral majority had initially opposed the WLI before making a sudden about-face almost five years into the stem's wholesale adoption. They soon became its most aggressive boosters. 
Concerns about the political backgrounds of many of the early stem proponents gave many of America's fundamentalists valid pause. The Universal Party had formally been known as the TWRF: the Trotskyist World Revolutionary Front. Its conversion to universal, pro-stem advocacy had required a name change, but little ideological modification. But as the stem's power to free Man from his mortal concerns became apparent, the fundamentalist wing of the nation started to warm to its adoption. 
Stems, after all, could never succumb to the morally degenerative effects of alcohol, as much of the stem's circuitry was given over to restricting inebriation. And Stems were healthier, stronger, and generally considered of a better character – everything that religious America was attempting to mold the nation into. Clear minds and clean characters. 
But the change came too late for Kevin. By the time his church flipped to a pro-stem stance, he was already married to Beat. To maintain his marriage, as God demanded, he had to break with the teachings of his church. And break with his church he did, totally and completely. If ever a man had had faith, then Kevin had lost his. 
By the time Beat and Kevin's marriage disintegrated, it was too late for Kevin to return to the other side. By then, his views were fixed in stone: God hated the WLI, Kevin was sure, and religion had led man astray. Mankind had no choice but to spiral down a path that ended with its destruction. The stem meant the end of the world.
"Go weapons hot," the scratchy voice said over the megahertz. In the gloom, armored figures moved lightly to their feet, shouldering automatic rifles. Their footfalls made no sound, but the floorboards beneath them creaked. 
Below, Elder Tull glanced up, a mouth full of au gratin potatoes, watching a thin haze of long, undisturbed dust break free from the boards in the ceiling and float down to his face. Perhaps, if anyone else had noticed the movement, what was about to happen would have come as less of a surprise. But for Elder Tull, the synapses were making no connections. He coughed with a mouth full of potatoes and struggled to stifle a sneeze. He shook the dust from his face and returned his attention to the insults Beat and Prime were tossing across the bar. The movement in the ceiling was quickly forgotten. 
Elder Tull... well, Elder Tull was just too loony-bird crazy to get stemmed. He'd always been of an excitable nature; a delicate genius, voted by his high school class the most likely to become the next dot com millionaire – the next Drew Arrow. By the time food had become scarce, Elder had already given up on the day-to-day work of taking care of himself. If Steve and Eydie hadn't taken him in, he'd have quickly died of starvation, or been arrested for vagrancy and stemmed in jail. 
Normal, everyday life had always been a challenge for Elder. Particle physics, writing in assembly language, a three-body problem, these were easy... but everyday life...

#

"So, Bannock? No shit?" Elder spoke up, changing the subject. Eydie brought the slice of bread to her mouth and began to eat quietly. Everyone realized they were standing still, watching her every movement. They had to shake themselves free of the hypnotic sight.
"Bannock? Shit, yeah! Real as I am standing here in front of you. You're eating the proof."
"But it's just some place called Bannock, right?" Kevin spoke up. "I mean, not the promise land prophesied by that half-crazy Brotherhood..."
"No, fuck it, dude!" Prime chuckled. "The Bannock. Arrowsoft logos on all the equipment and everything. The real deal. Really real. I was there."
"Yeah, sure, Prime..." Beat dismissed.
"I was–" Prime harrumphed. "Look, I've been pushing out farther and farther, right? Up into the mountains. The easy pickings have been picked clean, you know? The stuff near civilization, so I've been heading out into the sticks. Finding communities that haven't been touched by the stem – hardly even heard of it. 
"Anyway, two – three trips is all any of them have ever been good for. Come back one day and everyone's up and lit out. Supplies got short, they made enough from trading with folks like me, and they move on, looking for greener pastures. So I have to push farther and farther up into the hills each time to find the next hillbilly town that hasn't heard from civilization yet. So this trip, I'm in the Wagoneer all the way up in the middle of nowhere, off Highway 2, and I run into these old timers, and they start talking about this commune up the road that might be worth a look-see. They say it's a big operation, they see trucks and stuff rolling by all the time. I'm thinking, hell, it's some Stem summer camp and I'm going to roll right through the middle of it. But I go check it out.
"Up a ways, the road turns to dirt, then mud, then it ain't much more than a foot trail. I'm thinking I've taken a wrong turn, and I'm looking for a place to turn the Wagoneer around. Then I bust through this line of trees, and right there I see the queerest sight. Trail climbs up in front of me, up through a steep-walled canyon, and at its summit, there's this massive boulder. And I mean massive! Like five stories high, and perfectly round like somebody's carved it out of the rock. Fucking thing is just sitting there at the top of the hill, all Indiana Jones and shit, like it'll roll down at any second and squash you flat. Lots of tire tracks here, leading up the sandy slope through the canyon, and I realize I'm on the right track.
"So up I go, shiftin' the Wagoneer into four-wheel drive, up and around that motherfucking big boulder. Then I'm over the hump and heading down into this valley... well shit, it's the fucking Garden of Eden, I'm tellin' you! First thing I see is five hundred – a thousand acres planted with wheat, waving in the sun like some old breakfast cereal commercial. Road cutting right through the middle of the crops. I'm bumping along it, not believin' a thing I'm seeing. Grapes growing up on the north valley wall, hop vines and corn fields... a small river, damned, flooding a section of the valley for rice. When I'm through the wheat, the whole dead-end of the valley is put down for grass, and cows are grazing. Fucking cows! Beef on the hoof!
"And right at the end, right where the valley walls come together locking this whole magic kingdom away from the world, is a tiny little hamlet. Ten, fifteen prefabricated houses, maybe, the whole deal circling a church with a bell tower. A fucking bell tower!"
"You're so full of shit, Prime," Beat was listening with arms crossed, her head tilted to the side.
"I know! Sounds like an LSD trip, am I right? But this fucking place is real. 'Course, the natives weren't so happy to see me. I get welcomed by a dozen M16's pointed at my head. But once they realized I was cool and not some fucking Stem weasel, they warmed up. 
"Turns out everyone there is either with the Brotherhood of Bannock or a direct employee of Arrowsoft. They're setting the whole place up, no expense spared, to be totally self-contained. Once Drew Arrow himself arrives, they're going to roll that big fucking boulder down and shut off the valley for good, trapping the good-hearted Pukes inside, and the evil Stem world with all its horrors out.
"They sent me back with some of their bounty." Prime gestured at the Potluck. "Told me to spread the word. The day is quickly approaching when Bannock will vanish off the face of the earth. Time for all good souls to repent, if you know what I'm sayin'..."

#

A hand wearing a Kevlar glove tested the handle of the door that topped the flight of stairs which led down into the depths of Madame Damnable's. Finding it unlocked, the hand pulled the door open slowly, letting the florescent lights from below shine off the mirrored glass lenses of a dozen silent gas masks. The hand found the CS Gas grenade it had previously shifted to its partner glove, and tugged the ring free from the safety lever. 
Steve's motivations had always been the most pure and the most cynical. While no libertarian freak like Prime, Steve had always been troubled by the veracity with which the Stems so quickly dismissed the safety concerns of the Pukes. The Law of Unintended Consequences was what Steve always quoted. If a background in biology and a solid understanding of evolution had taught Steve anything, it was that you couldn't just change a major biological element like human nutrition without causing ripples through all the other elements of human physiology and psyche. No one, no matter how smart would be able to predict the long term social, economic and physical effect of the stem. Steve preached caution. He wasn't anti-stem per se, but he was certainly highly skeptical. 
At least in the beginning. 
The loathing and hatred of the Stems came later, as it did to them all. There was only so much punishment an animal could take before it lashed out in anger. Steve reached that point – that point and well beyond.
The safety lever of the grenade came free as the canister bounced down the hardwood stairs. It was quickly followed by two friends and an avalanche of combat boots hurrying behind them. 
The first grenade popped like a firework, belching forth a thick stream of white gas. It almost went unnoticed in the packed room of partying Pukes, feasting happily on Prime's Potluck. The first Puke to breathe in the gas had no time to react as a rifle butt cracked down across the side of his head. 
The Potluck had officially come to an end. 





Chapter 10

The raids came to be known as The Night of Loaves and Fishes. 
It was the largest police action to take place in United States history, with almost every federal, state and local law enforcement agency acting in concert. Like a giant net cast over the towns and cities of the nation, the Government moved in a single night to detain, process and transport to encampments the whole of the country's Puke population. 
There was no resistance, no forewarning that might have provided its intended targets an opportunity to flee. Out of the ether, the largest gathering of non-military personnel ever recorded appeared, executed their task, and vanished from whence it came. The level of precision required to keep such a state secret was the most stunning example of Stem unity that the world had ever seen from any society.
Before dawn had risen the next day, almost every Puke in America had disappeared. 
The first Elder, Prime, Eydie, Beat or Kevin knew of the Night of Loaves and Fishes came with the explosion of the tear gas grenade at the foot of Madame Damnable's stairs. They had no time to question what was happening as a flood of SWAT barreled down the stairs behind their grenades. The police bellowed through their gas masks and pointed guns at the mass of people standing shoulder to shoulder in the compact basement bar. The crowd panicked as people struggled to get away from the tear gas. People screamed as policemen sent Pukes crashing to the floor, dropped by rifle butts. 
If the bar had been less jammed, perhaps the police would have been able to control the situation. But Prime's Potluck had been such a success and the turnout in Madame Damnable's was so large... the crowd spasmed like an injured animal, flinching away from the wound. People lost their footing and the crowd rolled on top of itself. Crushing.
At the rear, behind the bar, was Prime. His martini glass of grain alcohol fell from his hand as he reached under his oversized Hawaiian shirt and came up with a large silver revolver. He was dancing on his feet, trying to decide exactly which way to jump, as the mass of those trapped on the barroom floor crushed up against the bar, screaming in pain. With his free hand he reached over the bar and yanked Eydie out of her seat, pulling her across the bar almost completely by her dreads. 
It was a fortuitous move that saved Eydie's life. Almost instantly, Elder Tull was forced up against Kevin and Beat, up against the back wall, squashed by the mass of bodies. Beat was closest to the bar and wriggled free, up and over. Kevin hit a fellow Puke with a surprise right cross and managed to struggle his way slowly towards the bar. He lost his dirty, ripped coat in the struggle, but Beat and Prime were able to pull him over the bar. 
Elder simply vanished, apparently crushed by the mass of humanity, only to appear as if by magic unharmed and still clutching his plate of food on the temporarily safe side of the bar. Elder seemed unfazed as he cleaned the last of the food off his plate. The others were frantically trying to help their fellow Pukes over the bar. The gas was building around them. They were all coughing as tears stung their eyes. In the midst of the chaos, a gunshot rang out. Pukes were screaming in pain, crushed up against the bar, jammed tight. There was no budging even a single body. 
Kevin's large hands grabbed Beat and Eydie by the shoulders. He manhandled them through a small, almost hidden door behind the bar. Prime followed with his handgun leveled. Elder moved hunched over. 
Though the door was a room that had once served as Madame Damnable's kitchen. It had long ago been picked clean of any useful equipment, and now only grease stains and variations in the dust marked where the counters and refrigerators had once stood. But it was a dead end, with no rear exit out of the basement bar. 
"What the fuck is happening?" Beat screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. 
"Cops! Fucking Cops!" Prime replied, keeping his pistol pointed at the kitchen's door.
"They're killing them in there!" 
"Fucking Cops!" Prime said again.
"It's a dead end!" Kevin stated the obvious. "We're trapped in here!"
There was another series of gunshots heard over the screams in the bar. Everyone in the kitchen dropped to their knees.
"They're gonna kill us!" Beat pulled off her duffel coat and tossed it aside, revealing a red lace bra that matched her Mickey Mouse hot pants. She was searching the old kitchen for anything she could use as a weapon. She found a length of pipe attached to the wall and tried unsuccessfully to pull it free. 
Elder followed suit. The seriousness of the situation was finally beginning to dawn on him. He found his own pipe and started pulling. Unlike Beat's, Elder's came free, snapping clean off the wall. There was a hiss, and then he noticed the smell of rotten eggs.
"I'm going to kill every last motherfucking–" Prime began.
"Here, look," a small voice said. Despite all the chaos, the slight sound grabbed everyone's attention. Eydie, at the rear of the kitchen, was looking up. Where the stove had once stood, there was a sooty black hole that exited diagonally up and out towards street level. It was small, no more than a foot and half across, and there was no light shining down from the chimney's far end, but it was the small kitchen's only exit.
"We can't fit through that," Prime dismissed, keeping his pistol pointed towards the door. 
"I can fit through it," Eydie said, looking for a foothold. "Give me a boost."
The smell of rotten eggs was building, but the discovery of the chimney stole Elder's attention. He threw aside his broken pipe and helped Eydie up to the small, dark opening. Nimbly climbing up Elder's shoulders and onto his head, Eydie snaked into the pipe. There was some grunting and a cascade of black soot as she wiggled, but she was making progress and her feet quickly vanished from view.
"There's something blocking–" Eydie's muffled voice said from the chimney. It was followed by a series of hard thumps, then the sound of snapping wood. There was a tense moment filled with nothing but screams from the bar, and then Eydie's voice called, "I'm out!"
"Alright, Beat," Kevin took charge, "you're the next smallest. Go!" Truth be told, pound for pound, Elder was probably the next smallest in size to Eydie, but Elder's ego wasn't about to make a point of the issue. Holding out his hands for Sweet's foot, Elder leaned forward. Beat kicked off her heels and let Elder lift her towards the escape route. Her torso snaked into the chimney, and Beat found Eydie's waiting hand to help her. A push from Elder from behind, a pull from Eydie above, and Beat threaded through the pipe. 
Elder went next, standing on Kevin's shoulders. Beat was able to pull Elder up and out under her own strength. There was little more to Elder than bones and skin.
Kevin was next. He tapped Prime on the shoulder. "Move over here and help me up," Kevin instructed.
"What?" Prime glanced back for a swift second, trying not to take his eyes off the door.
"Help me up!" Kevin grabbed Prime by the shoulders and pulled him towards the chimney.
"Shit!" Prime yelled, returning his revolver to its holster. "How the fuck am I going to get up there?" Prime asked as he gave Kevin a boost.
"We'll find a rope or something," Kevin said, his head already lost in the sooty pipe. Kevin reached up and found Beat's hand waiting. Her firm grip took hold and she pulled him up with adrenaline-fueled strength.
Below, Prime was pushing on Kevin's heels when the door to the kitchen burst open. Prime let go of Kevin and reached for his gun, but quickly realized it was unnecessary. Two bloodied and beaten Pukes stumbled into the kitchen and slammed the door behind them. 
Above Prime, Beat pulled with all her might, and Kevin painfully emerged from the chimney. 
"There's no way Prime is going to fit through that," Kevin said as he flopped onto the blacktop of the alleyway. He was holding his arm, limp and numb from exertion. Eydie and Elder were watching the ends of the alleyway, where the lights of police cruisers danced off the walls of the buildings.
"He'll have to," Beat replied, diving her whole upper body back into the hole, thrusting the curves of her tight hot pants up into the night air. 
"Help me up!" Prime ordered the two Pukes. 
"What?" One of the Pukes looked at Prime, his puffy red eyes streaming with tears.
"Help me up this pipe, it's the way out!" Prime jumped, trying to reach for the opening. It was only then that Prime noticed the rotten egg smell. It meant something to him, some half-forgotten memory, but he had no time to recall. 
Luckily, the second Puke was quicker on the uptake. He moved over, under Prime, and tried to boost the heavy man up. But Prime was just too heavy. Not until the first Puke joined in were they able to lift Prime from the floor and up to the chimney. 
He made it just past his shoulders before getting stuck.
"No, no, stop!" he yelled up to Beat, who was pulling with all her strength on his arms. 
"Come on, you fat fuck!" Beat screamed down the pipe. 
Back down in the kitchen, the two Pukes were pushing on Prime's feet. 
They didn't notice the kitchen door open behind them.
With Prime screaming in pain, and Beat screaming curses down the chimney, they didn't hear the SWAT officer barking orders from behind his gas mask. 
They didn't see the AR-15 rise to the officer's shoulder. 
They didn't hear the rifle fire until the bullet had passed through the first Puke's chest.
They didn't see the propane that was filling the room, pouring out from the broken pipe in the wall, ignite on the muzzle flash of the rifle.
They didn't hear Prime scream as the blast thrust him up the chimney, and he shot out like a cork from a champagne bottle. The explosion in the kitchen sent him crashing up against the far wall of the alley, knocking Beat clear as he exited.
The Pukes in the kitchen didn't see anything but the fire engulfing them.





Chapter 11

Nathan awoke in darkness, aware of the empty space in the bed beside him. He sat up and found the sheets missing, his naked body lit by the glow of the city, which shone in through the floor-to-ceiling picture windows of the penthouse condo. His gaze fell on the round shadow of his stem socket, perfectly centered in his torso. He watched it move as he breathed. There was no longer any inflammation or scarring around the incision. It was a part of him now, he realized as he rose up out of bed, looking out at the skyscrapers beyond the window. He stretched and searched the floor beside the bed for his pants.

#


It had been a whirlwind evening of cameras and microphones. The internment raids had began at dusk, sweeping up the country's Puke population. Nathan was first and foremost in the Government's media offensive.
They'd taken over an entire Belltown condominium complex, putting Nathan up in the penthouse and letting each and every camera crew or group of radio engineers use a suite. Nathan was to cycle through each suite in turn, delivering his message: The Night of Loaves and Fishes was a win-win situation for both Pukes and Stems. The Pukes would be happier in the camps. The Government was forced to act swiftly to save lives. The secrecy around the whole situation was necessary. No one understood better than Nathan the squalid conditions that Pukes endured: the constant absence of food and shelter, the fighting and thieving required just to survive. After all, Nathan was the last Puke to be converted. No, he was glad that it had happened to him – it was a blessing, and he hoped that all the other Pukes would someday see the light and willingly convert themselves. Living with the WLI was simply a better life. If the people at home had any questions about life as a destitute Puke, they should pre-order a copy of Nathan's upcoming book...
It was a speech Waverly had prepared for him. It arrived with the setting sun, in 12 point Times New Roman, stretching over ten pages. Peters had hand-delivered it, with more than his fair share of postscripts added to the document.
"...there have been no serious international conflicts since WLI achieved hegemony in the United Nations..." 
Peters was speaking, but Nathan paid him no attention as he focused on the stack of papers in his hands. Peter fussed over the sports coat Nathan was wearing that had been picked out by Jude. He was displeased with the cut. 
"What was that?" Nathan looked up from his homework.
"You've got to pay attention!" Peters slapped irritably at the shoulder pads of the jacket. "Where did you find this coat?" he said over to Jude. Jude was sitting and smoking next to an open window nearby.
"He looks fine," Jude replied, puffing a stream of smoke out into the crisp evening air. "He can't look too tailored, he was just stemmed last night, remember?"
Peters contemplated this, looking Nathan up and down.
"Hegemony?" Nathan flipped through his papers.
"Oh, never mind. No one is going to quiz you about current events..." Peters seemed to come to some sort of peace with the jacket.
"I... I don't know about this..." Nathan stuttered, flipping through the sheets of papers. "I've never been very good in front of cameras."
"You'll be fine, baby," Jude said, rising from her chair and putting a comforting arm around Nathan's waist. "Remember the talking points, and let the rest percolate up should you need it."
"I don't even know why I'm doing this." Nathan started to panic. "I think you've got the wrong guy."
"It has to be you, Nathan," Peters said forcefully. "No one else can speak with your moral authority."
"But... but..."
"If you go in there and tell America that the Government's internment policy is a good thing, America will believe you. You can save lives, Nathan. Right here, right now."
"But, I don't know..." Nathan said, flipping through his papers as if hoping to find some sort of ethical explanation within them.
Peters huffed in frustration and pulled at his handsome hair.
Jude interjected, "You're right, Nathan. If you don't believe what you're saying, there's no chance in hell you can sell it to anyone else. But this message has to come from you, Nathan, for a good reason: no one can speak more freshly to the life-affirming change that implantation brings about. 
Jude took a step back and looked Nathan up and down in his ill-fitting sports jacket and slacks. "Think of yourself only yesterday. Can you say, honestly and truly, that your life isn't immeasurably better? Can you stand there with no hunger pangs, no borderline dehydration, no malnutrition, no starvation-fueled insanity, and not admit that life hasn't improved? Look at yourself, Nathan." Jude maneuvered Nathan to a dressing mirror where he could see himself from head-to-toe. "Young again. Healthy, your body chemistry monitored and adjusted every ten microseconds. No hunger, no aging, no obesity, no want. No heart disease, no cancer. No body that will wither away with age and trap a still vital mind in a crumbling shell. All the correct nutritional requirements and all the right chemicals balanced. Your body and mind will be sharp and animated for the full time allotted to it upon this earth."
Across the room, Peters yawned and removed his phone from his pocket, checking the display. 
After shooting Peters a dirty glare, Jude continued. "And who's to say that the mind can't last forever? Immortality, Nathan, is a theory that takes forever to prove. And the WLI has only been in production, implanted in human beings, for just over ten years. There is a school of thought – controversial, yes – that believes that, given a healthy body, the perfected body in which to ride out the eons, that a man's lifespan, perfected by the stem, might not just be decades, but centuries... millennia... perhaps eternal..."
Jude caressed Nathan's chest under his sports coat. He could see only his own eyes in the mirror looking back at him. As before, he saw High School Nathan looking back. Somehow, someway, he was that Nathan again, with a beautiful woman beside him, touching him softly. A world of possibilities was in front of him, and a dark, half-forgotten dream was behind him. Had he ever really been a Puke? He could barely remember. Had it really only been yesterday? No, it had to have been longer. It seemed like a previous life, not a previous day. 
Yes, Nathan would be able to sell the Night of Loaves and Fish to the American people because he believed in it himself. Looking at himself in the mirror, he knew there was nothing about his old life that had been worth redeeming. Everything good and honest and worth having was in front of him now. He only wished a similar fate to all the other Pukes, especially his former friends: Elder Tull, Kevin, Sweet Beat, the Prime Administrator, and Eydie. 
Yes, even Eydie. He could only hope she'd find the peace to see the stem for the universal good that Nathan now understood it to be. He dared not hope for her implantation. No, that was beyond imagining. But peace... peace he could wish her.
Because now, Nathan had Jude.

#

Each interview lasted no more than ten minutes, but they were stacked back-to-back so closely that Nathan had no time to breathe. The first three or four interviews, by anyone's standards, were terrible. Nathan muttered and stammered and started sentences that he never got around to finishing. But after five or six tries, Nathan began to hit his stride. 
The questions were universally bland, softball pitches that allowed Nathan to keep to his talking points. The big national evening news broadcasts were up first. Nathan's interview went out live while America sat down to its sitcoms. He followed the official announcement by the Big U spokesman, carried on each channel in turn, detailing the Government's new policy on Puke internment. 
To his credit, the official minced no words describing the new Government action. They highlighted the nature of the Supreme Court's decision, and the size and shape of the rock and the hard place between which the new ruling put America's law enforcement. Much of the bagwork was already taking place, with many Pukes eager, even welcoming their own arrests. The promise of a square meal and a warm bed was far too enticing for most to resist.
What was left for Nathan to do was explain and comfort. The news from the Big U spokesmen hit home like a shot to the gut, shocking a sleepy nation. The silence on the news sets was palpable, as each network anchor in turn, sitting at his desk, cut away to the interview with Nathan.
Jude had done a superb job of making Nathan look both humble and accessible. A snarling maniac Puke, like Elder Tull, would have done little except scare the American people. A slick, Peters-like Stem, conversely, would have looked too much like a ploy. For his purpose, Nathan wore the ill-fitting sports jacket well. Disheveled but handsome in a well-traveled sort of way, he was able to speak honestly and to the point about the WLI's benefits – how it had personally changed his life. "The Pukes have their rights, sure," Nathan said in his sixth interview. "But what good are rights when you're dying, starving in the street?"
He quoted himself in each consecutive interview after that. It was soon the only talking point he needed. After the Big U spokesman dropped his bomb, Nathan was there to pick up America's spirits. 
By nine, the public opinion numbers were starting to roll in. Nathan could see Peters on his cell phone in the halls between interviews. He was laughing and gave Nathan a warm thumbs up. Things were going well.
They broke for half an hour at ten before the late night news began. Jude took Nathan's hand and spirited him quickly to an elevator, and back up to the penthouse apartment. 
They fucked ravenously, Jude face down on the condo's dining table, Nathan behind her, his fingers completely encircling her wasp-like waist, until he exploded. Afterward, while they were still naked, Jude showed Nathan how to check the charge level on his stem, and hooked him up to a wall socket for a top up. 
It was a strange sensation, as the current entered his body. Almost instantly, he felt revitalized. 
Jude had just begun to tend to Nathan's brand new erection when Peters' impenitent knock sounded from the door. 
There were more interviews well into the night, but Nathan had boundless energy. He was beginning to understand what it meant to be a Stem: you never got tired, you never had to slow down. You could give a 100% all day and still fuck like an animal all night. 
It was like some wonderful drug.
By midnight, Nathan could feel the ordeal coming to an end. The last of the camera crews were breaking down, and his final interview was playing on a local affiliate's late, late news program. Even with his recharge, Nathan was beginning to feel the physical effects of the day. He felt a strong thirst for a glass of nice, cold of beer. He knew, however, that his body didn't really want it. Phantom pangs, Jude had called them. But he could almost taste it...
As Nathan and Jude made their way to the elevator, the first reports of the fire came in. It was breaking news, interrupting Nathan's interview. Emergency services were responding to a four-alarm blaze in an abandoned building just west of the university campus. Glancing up at one of the TV crew's monitors, Nathan instantly recognized where the fire was. The memory of the planned Potluck flashed back to him. It was Madame Damnable's, Nathan knew with a sickening certainty. The view from the circling news helicopter was all too clear. 
Eydie. Nathan's heart sank. Oh, no.
Nathan was faintly aware of the news crew around him. They were no longer tearing down their equipment, but instead, setting up for a new interview. Peters appeared out of nowhere and spoke softly but rapidly into Nathan's ear. Something about a bombing, something about domestic terrorism... 
Nathan felt as if he was floating outside his body.

#

Nathan found his pants intertwined with Jude's underwear. He shook his pants free and slipped on the soft cotton. Indistinct, at the edge of his hearing, Nathan heard a soft noise, like a television somewhere in the suite had been left on. Grabbing his shirt, Nathan set out to find the source of the noise. 
As he explored, he found Jude's cigarettes on the dining room table and shook one free from the pack. He lit it with her lighter and took a slow drag. As he dropped the lighter back down, he took in the full size of the grandiose table. What was the point of it? It made a nice surface on which to fuck, but no Stem had needed to sit down to dinner for over a decade – not with the WLI.
But what a table it was. It could seat at least a dozen. And here it was, still standard furnishing in a luxury apartment. Nathan smoked his cigarette as he contemplated the table. Perhaps it'd take a generation or more before such totems of an eating, drinking culture fell out of common use; before living spaces were converted to rework areas like dining rooms and kitchens into something more useful. Or maybe they'd always remain, like little Santeria shrines in everyone's homes. Silent memorials to the Stem's food-consuming past. 
Nathan smiled until he remembered that faint noise still going on. What was it? It sounded like sobbing, like soft, muffled sadness. He walked this way then that, searching down the carpeted hallways of the penthouse apartment. Soon he had it triangulated, circling the noise like a sharp-eared bloodhound. It was coming from a closet just off the front door. Inside, someone was softly crying. 
Nathan reached out slowly and turned the brass knob, pulling the door open. The closet was dark, but the eerie lights of the bustling city streaming in through the plate glass windows gave Nathan more than enough light to see Jude sitting inside amongst the shoes, wrapped in the thousand-count white sheet from the bed. A spent cigarette was clasped between two fingers. She was sobbing into her knees, as mascara ran down both cheeks. 
"Jude," Nathan said softly with genuine concern. "What's wrong?"
Jude looked up from her knees and fixed Nathan with her bloodshot eyes. "Do you still love me?" she said, and let her head fall forward. A new wave of tears poured forth. 
Nathan felt like he was floating outside his body, looking down at himself and Jude. He could see himself standing there with his chest bare. He knew he should say something comforting to the girl, but he could do nothing but stand there, her words ringing in his ears.





Chapter 12

"Fuck," Elder said, glancing nervously back over his shoulder. He faced forward and trotted to keep up with Eydie, but he kept glancing behind him. The fire that had started in Madame Damnable's was really burning now. Shadows of the smoke danced on the clouds in the evening sky about him. The sound of sirens wailing and the smells of the fire filled the air. They all had to be dead, Elder realized, they all had to be dead...
"Fuck," Elder said again.
It was only Eydie and Elder, and Elder stumbled to keep up with her. Each time he turned to look at the faint glow of the fire over the rooftops of the university, Eydie stepped ahead of him. She strolled forward with determination, like she was in a hurry to get where she was going. 
Once they'd realized that Prime hadn't been seriously hurt by his inglorious exit from the basement bar, they attempted a quick escape from the alleyway. It was all out chaos in the street behind Madame Damnable's. The alleyway exit was blocked by a dozen police cruisers, but there were no officers around them. There was screaming down the street as a second explosion rocked Madame Damnable's. Thick curls of black smoke were rising out of the building's basement windows. People were running for cover as Elder, Eydie, Sweet Beat, Kevin and the Prime Administrator sprinted the long block towards the university campus.
Oddly, the only police they saw was a single officer standing in the center of a distant intersection, firing his pistol randomly at passing citizens. The officer was too preoccupied to witness the Pukes fleeing the explosion, and none of the group had the presence of mind to give the queer sight more than a passing glance. They sprinted for the cover of the campus, and once there, they tried to collect their thoughts.
After much "What the fuck?"-ing and "Oh my fucking God!"-s they decided to split up. Prime wanted to go back for his car. No one else thought that made a damn bit of sense, so he went alone. Kevin and Beat stuck together and headed northwest up Hippie Hill. Elder, feeling protective of Eydie, bustled her off south, cutting through Red Square, down Rainer Vista, around the fountain, and back up through the engineering buildings that had once been Elder's stomping ground. 
Even though Elder felt like he needed to protect Eydie, it quickly became apparent that Eydie was taking care of Elder Tull. After several wrong turns, Eydie took it upon herself to lead the way. Soon, Elder was trotting to keep up with her as she navigated in and out of the campus pathways, keeping off the main roads, sneaking her way across campus, heading north. Elder might have felt more comfortable handing off responsibility for their escape had Eydie not been sobbing the whole time, tears and snot running down her face.
"Fuck," Elder said once more, pausing to look back at the false sunset the fire to the west created. They were at the precipice of a long staircase that led away from campus. When Elder turned his attention back to the stairs, he realized that Eydie was already halfway down, disappearing into the gloom below him. Elder threw himself forward, taking the stairs two or three at a time, suddenly fearful that he was being abandoned.
"Where are we going?" Elder asked when he reached the base of the staircase. Eydie was waiting for him on the footpath that followed the old railroad tracks that circled the campus. The path was almost completely lost in black, only intermittently lit by a streetlight here and there. 
"The Candy Kitchen," Eydie sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. 'Candy Kitchen' was what the younger Pukes called the house where Prime squatted – it was supposedly where he lured, murdered, butchered and ate his Stem victims. In reality, it was less cannibal kitchen and more small, well stocked weapons cache. You were more likely to find a hand grenade than a human hand digging through the cupboards of Prime's kitchen, though Elder always paused involuntarily before opening the refrigerator, half expecting a Dahmer head hidden inside.
"They're..." Elder began, trying to say something comforting. "I'm sure they're all okay."
It was Eydie's turn to say "Fuck," and she stepped off into the night. Elder shivered, realizing he'd left his flea-bitten coat in the bar, and followed.
"It'll... it'll be okay..." Elder tried again, but even he didn't believe it. What the hell had just happened? Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, some half forgotten part of Elder's brain was starting to work again. It had been the cops coming down those stairs. With all the screaming and gas, it'd been hard to tell, but it'd definitely been the Seattle PD. This was new. Pukes had always been abused by the police, but attacked... that was new.
Elder adjusted the waistband of his jeans. If an old part of his brain had suddenly rebooted and was letting Elder reason again, it had also inadvertently kick started another part of Elder's physiology. Suddenly he had a raging hard-on for the first time in... well, Elder couldn't remember when. There'd been that tickle watching Beat fish the ButtyNut out of the refrigerator, but nothing like this. It was almost painful, pushing against the fabric of his jeans. He wanted to let it out and let it breathe, but even in the shadowy gloom of the footpath, Elder couldn't bring himself to do it. He hopped on one foot and tried to straighten it out, unsnapping his top button.
"What's wrong?" Eydie asked as Elder did his little dance beside her.
"Nothing, nothing..." Elder replied quickly, attempting a normal gait. "It'll... it'll be okay..." he repeated, mostly for his own benefit. 
"Shut up, Elder," Eydie said in the dark, backing it up with a choked back sob. 
"I really don't know what just happened," Elder admitted. He shifted his erection into a position that was less painful. 
"I do," Eydie said and paused. "Steve."
"Steve?"
"Yeah." Eydie wiped her eyes. "He told them where to find us."
Elder Tull stopped mid-step. As Eydie slogged away, the events of the evening before came back to him in one great burst: Steve and those Stems, sitting and smoking in that Puff Club; Elder laying in wait; the cops; the ButtyNut. Like a jigsaw puzzle put together with no reference to the box top, Elder suddenly saw the image take shape. Steve, the Stems, the raid on Madame Damnable's... 
"Fuck," Elder said one more time to himself in the dark.

#

The trail ended at the back of a strip mall parking lot. Eydie and Elder crossed the lot and jaywalked the four-lane road to a crescendo of honking horns. They were less than a block from the Prime Administrator's Candy Kitchen, a once luxurious home built on stilts over a wooden ravine, red-tagged long ago after a particularly serious earthquake. The floor of the house sloped like some Rogue's Gallery hideout, fifteen degrees down into the ravine. From the street, it looked totally derelict, but inside, Prime had carved out himself a small fortress of booby traps, video surveillance, homemade bombs and illegal guns. Prime had been passionately, meticulously constructing it for almost a decade in preparation for exactly the sort of event that had just transpired. 
Of course it would be the place they'd all run to once the police finally came gunning for the Pukes. Prime stockpiled food and ammunition in readiness. The plan was in place, and everything was prepared. But something about the whole setup worried Elder. The shock of the SWAT raid had only just begun to reboot his mental operating system, and the exact nature of his concern was still eluding him, but as he and Eydie made their way carefully down the slope of the ravine to enter the Candy Kitchen through its only unrigged entrance – a sliding door into the basement – something nagged at Elder's subconscious. If only he could pull it to the front of his mind...
Elder and Eydie were apparently the first of the group to arrive. The lights of the house were still dark as they slid open the glass patio door. Elder shorted a patch cable that pirated current from the city grid, and the basement's fluorescents flickered to life. 
Prime's IT setup dominated the house's old rumpus room. There was an industrial strength work bench sporting an array of six flat-panel monitors, and a full-sized, four-post rack full of blinking servers. Prime ran his whole online, anti-government revolution from that room, pumping out megabytes of anti-Stem propaganda, and mounting assault after assault on the server farms of the Big U Party, Whole Life, Inc. and any other entity that Prime designated as "in collaboration."
Elder clicked on the monitors and brought up the security feeds from the Candy Kitchen's many cameras. The house, the street in front of it, and the ravine behind all seemed quiet. Elder turned to tell Eydie this information, but found her balled up on one of the old, threadbare couches that lined the walls of the rumpus room. She was going catatonic again, Elder realized as he watched the mess of her dreads burrow into the smelly pillows of the couch. Elder opened his mouth to speak, but could think of nothing comforting to say. The opportunity passed as the sliding door opened and Kevin and Sweet Beat stumbled inside. 
Beat had acquired a man's coat and a black handgun in her travels, but the sight of her shapely, slender legs did little to dampen Elder's still-rock hard erection. Kevin looked disheveled – more disheveled than normal – as he closed and latched the patio door behind him. Without a word, he crossed the room and opened the closet by Prime's computer desk. He reached in and came out with a long, chromed, pump-action shotgun. He worked the action and chambered a round, looking over at the bank of monitors and the security feeds.
"You two have any trouble?" Beat asked. She gently lifted Eydie's head off the couch, sat down, and returned Eydie's head to the comfort of her lap. She petted Eydie's hair and put the black automatic down on a side table. "Had to break a cop's nose to get that," she said. "Didn't even see me sneaking up on him."
"No word from Prime?" Kevin asked, looking over the monitors.
"Not yet," Elder confirmed.
"Him and that stupid, fucking truck. If he gets himself stemmed for that piece of shit..."
"How'd Damnable's look?" Elder asked. "Last you saw it?"
"Fucking inferno. The Stems weren't even bothering to put it out."
"Then... I mean, everyone was in there..."
"Fuck it," Kevin said softly.
"Yeah, fuck it," Beat agreed.
"What the hell is going on?" Elder demanded with too much force, startling himself.
As if in an attempt to answer, Kevin double-clicked something on Prime's desktop. A window popped up on one of the monitors and a TV broadcast began to play mid-stream. A news helicopter was circling the burning wreckage that had been Madame Damnable's, as the lights of police cruisers and fire trucks filled the streets around it. The news anchor's voiceover was speaking solemnly: something about a terrorist incident. 
"What?" Elder questioned as he, Beat and Kevin watched the broadcast.
The news anchor recapped. There'd been an explosion in a derelict building in the University Distinct, no more than a block from campus. Early reports indicated over fifty dead. Apparently, the structure was in use by the city's homeless, un-implanted community at the time. City officials confirm that the SPD had been serving a warrant on the premises in connection with the federally-mandated internment of America's unmodified population when the blast occurred. Law enforcement casualties had not yet been reported. Officials refused to rule the explosion out as a terrorist incident. 
They were so transfixed by the broadcast that no one noticed Prime on the next monitor over, moving gingerly up from the base of the ravine. By the time Prime came through the sliding, glass doors, even Eydie had lifted her head off Beat's lap to watch the monitors.
The breaking news cut away from the circling helicopter shot to an interview with a familiar face. In shocked silence, everyone in the rumpus room watched Steve on the monitor, talking to an off-camera reporter.
"...I know it's too early to call this a terrorist incident... " he was saying. It was Steve, but then somehow it wasn't. He'd shaved and had his hair cut, but he also seemed younger, more animated. Happier. 
Elder checked Eydie's reaction. She watched the screen with a deep, unimaginable horror in her eyes. Elder could almost see the last of her sanity slipping away. 
"But should this explosion be found to be intentional, it will not come as a surprise to me. While, by and large, the Puke community is peaceful and non-violent, there is an element within it that has always had the capacity for an act like this. An act not only despicable, but downright insane. Let's not forget that Pukes died in this explosion. That's the sort of people we're dealing with here: people unconcerned with the lives of even their own kind. I hope the law enforcement community will do everything in its power to bring these people to–"
Prime cut the feed. He'd moved across the room, taking up residence in his desk chair. He closed out the television application, and a security camera view of the street in front of the Candy Kitchen replaced it. "That's enough of that shit," Prime said, opening a command prompt and reflexively typing something.
"Oh God... Steve..." Eydie sobbed.
Beat leapt up off the couch, picked up her gun and pointed it angrily at the screen, gangster-style. "No, fuck it! That wasn't Steve! Did you see him? It wasn't him. It wasn't fucking him!"
"But–" Was all Elder could get out.
"I know it looked like him! But what they've done to him... Ah, fuck it!"
"Terrorist incident? What's that bullshit?" Kevin added, still holding the chrome pump.
"There was no fucking bomb. It was a gas leak, I could smell it," Prime said, not looking up from his keyboard.
"Oh," The realization hit Elder Tull. 
"But they're gonna saddle us with this shit!" Kevin said. "And what's this internment crap?"
"Haven't you been watching the news?" Prime glanced at Kevin.
"What? No! Fuck no!" 
It was Eydie's small voice that answered, grabbing everyone's attention. "We won our appeal to the Supreme Court." 
"Won? What appeal?" Kevin replied angrily.
"Turns out Pukes are people too. But, I guess that means we'd all be better off living in internment camps."
"Bullshit," Prime grunted. "Concentration camps... be sure to breathe deeply in the showers."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Kevin fumed. He looked at Elder for a reaction. Elder could do nothing but shrug.
"Word is they were arresting any Pukes stupid enough to show up at a rationing center," Prime continued. "But this..." With a click, Prime brought the news feed back up. It had returned to the circling helicopter, and the smoldering remains of Madame Damnable's. "This was a raid. They were coming for us. I always told you people it would come to this someday: a knock at the door and a bag over the head. You idiots always called me crazy, but look at this shit. Look!" Prime tapped the monitor. "How crazy is this shit?"
"Prime's right," Beat said and paused, the surreal nature of her sentence sinking in. "I never thought I'd say it, but Prime is right."
"They can't... I mean... You said we won?" Kevin almost begged Eydie. But Eydie had returned her head to the pillows of the couch, hiding from the world
"You can't win for losing," Elder replied.
The group fell into silence as Prime tapped away at his keyboard. Beat, Kevin and Elder watched as the helicopter filmed the remains of Madame Damnable's, and as the fire crews finally dowsed it with streams of water. 
Kevin was the first to speak again. "If they want terrorists, then let's give them terrorists."
"Huh?" Beat looked up, shaken from her own musings.
"If they want mad bombers, well... hell, let's give them mad fucking bombers. But no more of this blowing up Pukes, bullshit. No, if they're going to come for us, put us in camps, then let's take the fight to them. Hit them where they live, burn their fucking buildings down!"
"You want to kill more people?" Beat asked in disbelief. 
"More? More?!" Kevin stepped towards Beat, thrusting an accusatory finger at her. "All of them! I want to kill every last motherfucking Stem! But payback for each and every Puke killed tonight, that'd be a start."
"You're fucking insane," Beat dismissed. For a second, it appeared as if Kevin was going to strike her. Beat didn't flinch.
"You've had one too many Stem cocks up your ass," Kevin accused Beat. "It's made you soft."
Beat didn't hesitate. She wheeled back and smacked Kevin in the jaw. He staggered back, dropping the shotgun, and crashed into Prime's server rack.
The punch seemed to take the mean out of him. He rubbed his jaw, winced, and then shot Beat a wide grin. 
"After this? You want to pile on more shit?" Beat said calmly, watching the monitor, not looking at Kevin as she spoke. "No, after this, we bounce. Load up Prime's truck with all the guns and ammo and food and water it can carry and get the fuck out." She fixed Prime with her steel gaze. "If this Bannock place is real, if Prime wasn't just pitching us shit, then we head for that. That's our best chance. But if you assholes want to stay behind and go out in some fucking blaze of glory, help yourself."
"No, no," Elder spoke up. "Whatever we do, we stay together." 
Prime looked up from his terminal. Beat turned to face Elder. Kevin picked up his shotgun, still with the dumb grin on his face, and looked over. Elder had their full attention. Only Eydie was ignoring him, lost in the cushions of the couch. 
Somehow, inexplicably, the decision had fallen on Elder Tull.





Chapter 13

"The bombing is trending well in the polls," Peters said, facing Nathan in the town car from the seat across from him. Peters had his phone out, tapping away, reviewing some data.
Nathan felt tired. He'd made sure to suck up a full charge into his stem before leaving the penthouse condo that morning. But still, he felt tired.
"The dead police officers have given law enforcement a much-needed sympathy bump. And to think, we thought they'd come out looking like the bad guys in all this. There's a memorial tomorrow at the Center. Nathan, you'll need to be there looking suitably distressed. I'll try and get you a seat close to the podium, but it might be hard to wrangle. A lot of political weight is getting thrown around. You'll need a black suit..." Peters turned to Jude, who was beside Nathan, wearing sunglasses and looking gloomily out the town car's side window. "Something nice this time?" Peters tone was condescending. "Something that a regular Joe would have to lay out a month's wages for. Armani, for Christ's sake. That jacket yesterday didn't poll at all..."
"Okay," Jude replied. She didn't bother to look away from the window as the reflection of the city scanned by in her dark lenses. 
 Nathan had managed to coax her out of the closet after discovering her there. They'd gone to bed and made love again, but all the energy of the act had been sapped from Jude's body. 
Nathan hadn't pushed her on her comment, and she hadn't reiterated it. But Nathan's failure to reciprocate her love had obviously driven some sort of wedge between them. Not forty-eight hours after they'd met and already things had shifted from hot and heavy to cold and distant.
"Where are we going?" Nathan asked, joining Jude in watching the traffic out his own window. "Another interview?"
"More of a town hall," Peters responded, not looking up from his phone. "At the WAC. Give you a chance to try your charms out on the general public – speaking of which, Jude, what about that cosmetic orthodontist?" 
"This afternoon at 3," Jude replied in a monotone voice. Nathan suddenly felt self-conscious. He bared his teeth at his reflection in the car window and examined his mouth.
"Well, tell him to do the best he can without pulling anything. Bleach or whatever. There's no time before the memorial to get a partial made. I don't want him onscreen with a gaping mouth full of rotten teeth."
"Right," Jude nodded.
"Do you have a script from Waverly?" Nathan mumbled. His teeth didn't look all that bad to him. A little yellow maybe...
"Waverly is out," Peters said matter-of-factly. 
Nathan turned away from his reflection. "What?"
"Out." Peter repeated. "Out of the picture. His copy didn't poll well and... well, he never really had that vision thing..."
"Then what am I supposed to say?" 
"Yesterday's talking points are still on-topic. And your ad-libs yesterday trended very well. You jumped up almost universally when you went off-script. I think the honesty spoke directly to people. You won't be on camera today, so don't worry too much about slip-ups. Just speak to these people honestly, belay their concerns, and you'll do alright. Oh, and don't forget to mention the book."
"Right," Nathan said, though he was still taken aback.
"Speaking of the book, where are we on that?" Peters was talking to Jude again.
This was important enough for Jude to look away from the window. "We have the author coming in at 12:15. He was hard to track down. He was in Aspen. No cell phone. No email."
"Aspen? In September?" Peter said incredulously. 
"He has a villa. He writes..." Jude waved a dismissive hand at the roof of the town car and returned her attention to the city outside the window. They were jammed in traffic on 5th, near the retail core of town. Already, the first Halloween decorations were in the storefronts.
 "Good," Peters returned his attention to his phone. "I feel like a first-class fool selling a product that we don't even have the rights to."
"The book is not the product, Peters," Jude said absentmindedly.
"No," Peter allowed. "But it is the only vector we have for monetizing it... so far..."
A silence fell over the town car as it shunted slowly forward in traffic. They were almost at the intersection of Pike, just off Westlake Square.
"Product?" Nathan asked, breaking the silence. He was only half listening to the conversation. Outside his window, west towards the square, a police cruiser caught Nathan's attention as it pulled away from the curb. It accelerated away from the crowded square, heading west down Pike. But it unexpectedly performed a sharp u-turn. Its lights and sirens exploded to life as it again picked up speed, barreling back through the square. It seemed to be rocketing directly towards Nathan and the town car. Nathan gasped and pulled his face away from the car's window. 
Momentarily, as the police cruiser careened through the square, Nathan noticed a figure off to the side of the road, waving its arms frantically, attempting to flag down the passing patrol car. Before any sort of recognition could form in Nathan's mind, the figure threw itself to the ground, lying down flat in the center of the square. The police car didn't slow. But, as Nathan watched, the rear of it rose suddenly, pulling the car vertically into the air.
The explosion engulfed the police cruiser in a fireball, tearing it apart like a paper model. The shock wave caved in the windows of the town car, showering Nathan in a hail of glass. He was thrown back, crushing Jude underneath him as the explosion picked up the town car up and threw it back down to earth. 
There was darkness, then pain, and Nathan awoke with a face covered in blood.





Chapter 14

Elder Tull held the knapsack securely on his lap as the bus made its way down Eastlake. The local came to a jarring halt at each and every stop, letting passengers on and off. Elder waited patiently, making sure there was room enough next to him should anyone want to take the seat. No one did. The sight of Elder's ragged, bushy beard and filthy, worn clothes kept all the other passengers at arm's length. 
Elder kept the knapsack on his lap all the same. He knew that the three pounds of Semtex in the bag would not detonate until he armed the detonator, but each and every bump the bus made still delivered a short stab of panic. It was best to keep it cradled safely on his lap as the bus slowly made its way towards downtown. Best for everyone involved.
It had been Elder Tull's decision, so it had inevitably fallen on Elder Tull to do the deed. When he'd eventually, belatedly agreed with Kevin on striking back against the Stems to avenge their fallen comrades, he hadn't fully understood what would be required of him.
When he'd learned, he hadn't liked the sound of it one bit.
But Eydie was still catatonic, refusing to leave the warm comfort of the rumpus room couch; Sweet Beat was against the whole plan from the beginning; no one trusted Kevin to do the job cleanly; and Prime... well, the days of Prime being able to move freely amongst the perfectly sculpted bodies of the general Stem population were past. 
So, the task had fallen to Elder, though almost no one trusted his state of mind with such a serious undertaking, least of all Elder himself. 
Elder Tull was hazy on the exact details of the plan. He distinctly remembered there being a plan, something that had been discussed at great length around the table of the Candy Kitchen. Elder had nodded his consent during the briefing, and had shown every appearance of having a solid grasp of the task laid out before him. However, once the army surplus satchel charge had been dropped into his lap, each and every detail of the planned bombing had evaporated from Elder's brain. The heavy sack of explosives completely consumed his attention. He'd listened attentively as Sweet Beat had explained how to arm the device – that, at least, he could recall. But the rest...
The bus rolled to a halt on 3rd and opened its doors near Regrade Park. Traditionally, an interchange of Pukes would have occurred at this stop due to a cluster of soup kitchens previously dotting the Belltown neighborhood. Pukes between meals would congregate in Regrade Park, sleeping rough or begging for handouts. Now, the park was eerily quiet. Whatever Pukes had not been rounded up in the Night of Loves and Fishes were now far too scared to show their faces in public by day. 
Suddenly, a wave of terror rocked Elder. What was he doing? The suspicious glances of his fellow bus passengers affirmed all his worst fears. He stuck out like a sore thumb, worse than Prime with his humongous gut. Everyone around him was so... beautiful. There was no way to hide Elder's true nature, not with his mouth of rotted teeth and his scraggly beard. Elder wanted to bolt off the bus, but the doors closed as the bus lurched forward. He was ready at the next stop, however, and leapt out onto the sidewalk, even before the hydraulic doors had completely opened. 
His behavior drew even more looks from the other passengers. Elder, with his insane head of unwashed hair, clutching a knapsack so tightly to his chest, stumbling off the bus before it had even come to a full stop... so many passengers talking on their phones... were they calling the cops? Elder didn't wait around for an answer. He jaywalked across 3rd and sprinted around the block. He kept running, crossing a street again and taking a sharp right. Elder paused to catch his breath, leaning up against a brick wall.
He was in Westlake Square.
He was smack dab in the center of town. The square, as always, was crawling with shoppers and cops. Patrol cars, bicycle cops, mounted cops on their stem-powered stallions... Elder almost shit his pants. He'd stumbled into the lion's den. Hundreds of toned, well-dressed, youthful Stems strolling from boutique to boutique in the early autumn air. And a dozen cops – two dozen cops – all with orders to arrest any Puke on sight. 
And Elder, with three pounds of Semtex in a canvas knapsack.
Elder shit his pants just a little bit.
He needed to get rid of the bomb, and quickly. He'd never reach his original target, even if somehow he could remember what his original target had been. Elder stepped away from the wall and moved slowly out into the busy square. He scanned the concrete park for a receptacle: a garbage can, a mail box, something. He clutched his cargo tightly and accidentally bumped shoulders with passing Stems. They recoiled in horror when they turned to cuss at Elder. The sweat was pouring down his forehead. He soon realized he'd never make it to any garbage can. 
Any moment, someone would point and scream "Puke!" and it would all be over. The cops would descend like the Hounds of Hell. Elder would wake up in a camp somewhere – some undisclosed location. Afghanistan maybe, or Burma. Where would the government render all the Pukes? Elder knew with all his heart that he didn't want to find out. He had to get rid of the bomb. Right then and there.
A solution appeared at the curb where Pike Street bisected the square: a parked police cruiser sitting empty beside the road. A patrol officer stood about ten feet away, discussing something with two mounted policemen. None of them had looked in Elder Tull's direction yet.
Elder tried the rear passenger door. It was unlocked. In one smooth motion, he opened the door a crack and tossed the satchel onto the plastic rear seat. Almost as an afterthought, right before closing the door, he reached in and tugged on the detonator's zip cord. 
He softly clicked the door closed and scurried away from the cruiser.
Instantly, Elder Tull regretted what he'd just done. He looked down at the handle of the zip cord still in his hand and up at the crowd of unsuspecting Stems teeming around him. This was no place he wanted a bomb to explode. He turned quickly, panicking, scrambling to imagine how he was now going to dispose of an armed knapsack full of Semtex, when fortune smiled on Elder. The patrol officer, hearing something over his walkie talkie, came sprinting back to the car. He threw open the driver's door, leapt inside, gunned the engine and burned the tires as he pulled out onto Pike Street.
He was taking the bomb away from Westlake! Elder cheered internally. He'd done it! He'd done his job, he'd struck a blow for Pukes everywhere. He watched the car accelerate west down Pike, but then, it suddenly made a u-turn. The officer hit his lights and sirens as he picked up speed again, heading back towards Elder. 
Elder screamed. "No, no!" He leapt forward to the curb's edge, waving his arms frantically. What was the idiot doing? Didn't he know there was a bomb in there? He was coming back – back into the square, back where all the people were crowded. Elder tried to flag down the patrol car, but it sped by him, paying him no heed. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper on 5th, blocking the intersection, but the officer was accelerating towards it. Elder didn't wait for what was about to happen. He threw himself face first onto the sidewalk at the feet of the strolling Stems.
The explosion picked him up off the sidewalk and tossed him across the square like a rag doll. He faired better, however, than all of the Stems standing vertical in the square. 
The shrapnel of the police cruiser cut mercilessly into the packed crowd.





Chapter 15

Elder Tull came to, lying surrounded by severed arms and legs. The square was a grind house of screams and blood, with the smoldering, twisted frame of the car bomb at the center of it all. Elder wanted to vomit, but instead pulled himself to his feet. He woozily managed to stand, the horror of the world all around him fading in and out of double vision.
 A Stem woman lay on the sidewalk beside him, twitching and kicking, like a landed fish. Her left arm was missing and there was a gouge in her neck that Elder could have put his hand inside. Her eyes were fixed, pupils dilated, staring straight up at the blue, autumn sky about her. 
Elder tested his feet, found them functional, and staggered away from the gore. The store windows fronting onto the square had shattered, mixing broken glass in with the blood. It crunched beneath Elder's shoes as he wobbled away.
A crowd was already gathering. People looked on in horror, too dumbstruck to help the injured. Elder pushed past them, lurching precariously on his unsure legs. Someone held out a hand and murmured some sentiment of concern, but Elder couldn't hear it, his ears still filled with the piercing echo of the blast.
Elder moved aimlessly away from the blast site, knowing only that he needed to put distance between himself and the explosion. He staggered along the line of stalled traffic until he found himself in Times Square. His wits were returning, and the importance of a quick escape was dawning on his bomb-rattled mind. Everywhere, cars sat with doors open and ignitions on. Drivers had abandoned their vehicles either to look up the street in curiosity, or to flee on foot in fear. None of them did Elder a bit of good, however, with traffic bumper to bumper. 
He had to get out of there before the authorities arrived. It would take a half-wit cop no more than ten seconds to point the finger of blame squarely at Elder: his appearance instantly betrayed him. Elder couldn't hear it, but he saw the flashing lights of the first responders approaching. He needed to vanish – he needed to hide. His eyes darted left and right for some avenue of escape. Panic began to take him over.
What a fool he'd been to step outside the Candy Kitchen looking like he did. No one had thought it through. He'd always been so invisible before, the homeless guy on the bus or street corner that no one wanted to make eye contact with. He'd moved around like a shadow. They hadn't realized that everything had changed. After the Night of Loaves and Fishes, everything that had made him so invisible before now thrust him center stage. He had to get home and hide under a rock, Elder planned. Let the whole thing blow over.
But he knew it would never blow over, not now. Elder looked back at the smoke rising up behind him with a pang of regret. What had he done? The Stems would never let this go unpunished – he'd really started a war now. Why had he listened to Kevin and not Beat? She had advised fleeing the city. Now that was all Elder could think of: running away. He'd only made things worse for all the Pukes. All those people lying mangled... Elder closed his eyes, rubbing them in disbelief.
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fell on a local streetcar sitting at its terminus across the square. The street car, he realized, was computer controlled, and the tracks leading north looked clear of traffic. Quickly, Elder skipped between the stalled cars and hopped up through the waiting streetcar's open rear door. He was all alone in the long streetcar. He fumbled with change in his jeans pocket and eventually got the automated teller to issue him a ticket. Unaware of the chaos that raged outside, the internal sensors dispassionately registered Elder's presence. They calculated that Elder had paid the right fare and automatically began to close the car's doors to begin its predetermined journey. This was perfect, Elder thought. The streetcar would take him all the way back to the Ave. From there it'd only be a short walk back to the Candy Kitchen. Elder stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it, faintly aware of the hydraulic hiss of the closing doors. They were almost shut when a hand shot between the closing glass panes.
The doors registered the obstruction and swung back open. Elder looked up in surprise as two men in dark suits pulled themselves up into the streetcar. They paid Elder no specific attention, taking seats at the rear of the car. Once they were seated, the computer began its departure routine once again, forcing air to the closing doors with another hiss.
The streetcar leisurely rolled forward.
An awareness of sound was beginning to return to Elder. He could faintly hear the soft, electric hum of the streetcar's motors and the murmur of voices at the edge of his hearing. He glanced back over his shoulder at the two men. They were talking and looking back over their shoulders out the rear window of the streetcar. They were obviously discussing the chaos that was swiftly receding behind them. 
When Elder turned back, he caught sight of his reflection in his window. His face was bloody from small cuts to his scalp. The blood just added that little extra zing to his already disheveled appearance. He tried to clean off his face, wiping at the blood and grime with his shirt, but he had little success with the filthy garment. He looked like hell. He looked like someone who'd just set off a bomb. Elder panicked. Again, he looked back over his shoulder at the two men in dark suits. They were talking on cell phones now, seemingly paying Elder no attention.
Elder tried not to stare at them as the streetcar rolled through Denny Triangle, but he knew the two men had noticed him. He also knew that they'd noticed him noticing them noticing him, and were attempting to appear like they hadn't noticed. Elder was trying to look as if he hadn't noticed, either. He turned forward and watched the low buildings pass by as Lake Union appeared at the end of the street.
Elder was trying to stay calm, but dread was building deep inside his belly. When he could resist it no longer, he stole a quick glance back at the two men. One was holding his phone up in front of him, apparently looking at its screen. Was he taking a picture? Elder instantly brought his eyes forward. Had he taken a picture of Elder? Without thinking, Elder leapt to his feet, moving towards the front door of the streetcar, pulling on the bell cord. The streetcar slowed as it came around the south end of the Lake, rolling to a stop.
Elder jumped free of the car, looking back just in time to have his worse fears confirmed. The two men were exiting the streetcar by the rear door, their phones returned to the pockets of their dark suits. There was no doubt about it now. They were following him. Elder turned tail north and sprinted towards the stairs of a pedestrian bridge that would take him across the busy street. He glanced back as he bounded up the steps three at a time. The two men were not running after him. They seemed to be strolling, and one had returned his phone to his ear. 
The pedestrian bridge brought Elder out one story above the street he had crossed, where a path cut up the hill towards Dexter Ave. He crossed the busy street and sprinted through a cul-de-sac, which ended in an alley that aligned with the hectic Highway 99. Another pedestrian bridge was here, arching over the six lanes of speeding traffic, and Elder galloped up its steps. Once he reached the bridge, he was almost completely out of breath and paused over the median of the highway. Looking down, he sucked in large gulps of air. He paused long enough to spot the two men in dark suits trot out of the alleyway he'd just exited, up from the cul-de-sac. They realized their mistake too late.
Elder found his second wind. 
At the other end of the pedestrian bridge was a tall climb of steps up the side of Queen Anne Hill. Elder leapt up them with gusto, taking three or four at a time. His pursuers, accepting that their ruse was blown, sprinted up onto the pedestrian bridge, showing no signs of weariness. Elder would never outrun the Stems. They wouldn't tire, they wouldn't slow down. They could sprint all day and only show a ten percent drop in their reserve charge. Elder, on the other hand, was only human. He had yet to eat anything that day. His last meal had been at Madame Damnable's, and that had been cut short.
But they hadn't caught Elder Tull yet. Heedless of the odds, Elder sprinted up the stairs using every ounce of his energy. When he reached the summit of the climb, he was sweating like a horse. He allowed himself a small moment to catch his breath, looking back down the hill. The two Stems were jogging up behind him, making no haste.
It was a trap.
Elder knew the cops would be setting up a trap somewhere in front of him. The two men behind were only beating the bush behind Elder, waiting until their associates were ready for them to make their real move. Elder had to lose them.
He was at Galer Street. The neighborhood was quiet and still, but Elder didn't trust his ears after the explosion. A police cruiser could be running with sirens wailing only a block away and he might not be able to hear it. 
Elder kept moving along Galer until it crossed Taylor. Here, another staircase led up. Elder took it in three large jumps, coming out into the shady silence of Bigelow Ave. 
There, he paused, his ears faintly aware of a distant hum. Was the explosion still ringing in his ears? Elder stood still as the sound grew louder. No, he could hear again! Elder didn't take any time to enjoy the discovery as he searched for the source of the noise. The sound was the soft hum of a motorcycle circling up along Bigelow from the south. As it approached, Elder waved his arms frantically at the rider. The rider slowed, looking quizzically at Elder through the visor of his helmet.
"Can you help me?" Elder called out as he approached the rider. Not waiting for an answer, he punched the rider in the solar plexus. His knuckles crashed against the rider's stem, sending a stab of pain all the way up the length of Elder's arm. The rider doubled over, almost tipping the bike onto its side. Elder caught the handlebars with his free hand and pushed the rider off onto the street. As quickly as he could mange, he pulled himself onto the seat and kicked the bike into gear.

#

It was a hydrogen-powered, fuel cell motorbike of a dual purpose design. Where Elder Tull would have expected a gas tank, there was a carbon fiber hydrogen bottle sitting between his legs. There was no apparent engine, only two electric coils no larger than Elder's fists flanking the rear wheels. In the space that would have been occupied by a traditional engine sat the catalyst chamber, a scoop behind the front wheel pulling air in to react with the hydrogen. 
The engine released no emissions, producing only electricity and water. But as Elder found out, it also produced power – lots of power. As Elder kicked the cycle into gear, blipped the throttle and let the clutch out, it almost tore away from underneath him. He held on, however, and rocketed down Bigelow faster than he could control.
He shot through an intersection before he could react, and saw the lights of police cars maneuvering down the sleepy street towards him. He stepped on the rear brake, pulling the bike around in a one-eighty and throttled the fuel cell to life once again. 
The bike's former owner had recovered from his punch to the stem and was chasing after Elder. As Elder sped back down the street, he winged the rider in passing, sending him spinning and Elder almost face first down onto the blacktop. Elder recovered and pulled the bike west, pointing it up the hill. 
When he was firmly back in control, he fanatically shifted gears and let the motorcycle loose. 
A police cruiser seemed to appear at every intersection.
Elder dodged and weaved and kept moving. The cops were desperately trying to set up roadblocks as Elder desperately kept changing his direction. Left, right, circle around and then left again, Elder kept up the merry chase. At least a dozen patrol cars were behind him when he broke out onto the main street of Queen Anne Hill. Elder centered his bike on the yellow line and cut through traffic, leaving the patrol cars behind, impotently flashing their lights and honking their horns.
Both wheels of the bike left the ground as the hill fell away underneath Elder. He hit his brakes urgently, attempting to retard his speed as the road before him ended in a T. He had no hope of making the corner, and instead aimed between two structures. Suddenly, there were bushes all around him, a glimpse of a well-maintained backyard and a hail of splintering wood. There was a dip, then cement, then Elder was back on a street, miraculously still erect on his motorcycle. He hit his brakes again, this time skidding to a halt. He looked back and marveled at the path he'd just taken. There was no way a police car could follow that, Elder realized happily, and gunned his bike back to life.
With the pressure off, Elder kept to a sane speed. At the bottom of the hill, he turned east and had to decide whether to cross the ship canal at the Fremont Bridge or circle back around the lake to where he'd begun the chase. Elder decided to risk the bridge, turning against a light and shooting out over the bridge's deck. He instantly regretted it as the sight of two parked police cars greeted him at the far end. 
He flipped the rear wheel of the bike around and started back across the bridge, but the lights that welcomed his full reverse had Elder quickly grabbing his brakes. Two more police cruisers were moving to block the south end of the bridge, letting the traffic build behind them. Elder was stuck. He brought the cycle around in a three-sixty, smoking a donut with the rear wheel on the steel bridge deck before coming to a stop.
Elder was trapped. The officers were climbing out of their cars, drawing their guns. Elder cut the engine of the motorcycle, laying it down on its side between his feet.
Elder waited. 
The police didn't move forward. They remained behind the cover of their patrol cars with their pistols leveled. It dawned on Elder that they might be concerned about another bomb. He could have anything strapped to him under his dirty, bloodied shirt. Elder wished he did have a bomb, or a gun, or something. Then he might have had options. But as it was, Elder could do nothing but wait and watch the police as they waited and watched him.
That was when that the bridge under Elder Tull moved.
The klaxon sounded and the warning barricades descended, indicating that the bascule bridge below him was about to open. Elder froze, noticing that he was perfectly straddling the divide between the bridge's two sections. As the bridge deck below him began to rise and split, Elder considered his options: north and the two police officers at the Fremont end of the bridge, or south and the two officers at the Queen Anne end. He disliked both options. 
The spans of the drawbridge were rising below Elder. The motorcycle skidded away from him, down the newly created slope. Elder held tight to the south span on the bridge, gripping its edge as it lifted him higher and higher into the air. The motorcycle crashed against the police cars below. The officers stepped back in awe as they watched Elder being hefted into the sky. 
Elder's options were increasing deteriorating. Now he faced the decision of throwing himself off the bridge to the south and crashing down on the patrol cars, or north and taking a dip in the dark blue of the frosty ship canal below him. He held tight as the bridge locked itself into its open position.
Perhaps in the end it hadn't been much of a choice. Elder was simply delaying the inevitable. The kick in the pants came when one of the officers below impatiently took a pot shot with his pistol. The bullet skipped off the steel beside Elder's head, but it spurred him to action. Pulling himself up to a sitting position and then to his feet, he balanced on the lip of the bridge deck. Elder looked down into the dark, glassy surface of the ship canal below him. How far was it? Fifty, sixty feet below? Elder could only guess. 
He let his weight shift, leaning out into the dead air between the raised drawbridges...

#

Later that evening, a small green and white cab pulled off 65th and went down a residential street that was flanked on both sides by well-maintained craftsmen homes. The street led to a dead end, terminating where a wooded ravine intersected the street. It was the Candy Kitchen's ravine, but this was the opposite, north side of the canyon, where many similar old homes had also been condemned. The taxi cab pulled to a stop in front of one of these homes, pitch black at the end of the unlit street. The headlights of the car bathed a garage that stood to one side of a dilapidated structure with light as the car stopped in front of it. A dark figure stepped out of the driver's seat of the cab, walking the length of the short driveway towards the closed garage door, leaving wet, bare footprints on the dry pavement. The figure grabbed the door's handle and pulled it opened, letting the lights of the taxi illuminate the interior.
An old, rusty Wagoneer sat in the garage, filling half of the two car structure. The headlights of the taxi cab lit its prominent bumper sticker: "Free Palestine... with Purchase of an Israel of equal or greater value." The dark, wet figure walked back to the cab and pulled it into the garage next to the Wagoneer, killing the engine and the headlights. With the garage door again closed, the figure found the rear door and let itself out onto the stairs behind the abandoned structure, heading down into the ravine below.
It was the Prime Administrator's Wagoneer, a truck he'd had since it had run on petroleum. He'd converted it to bio-diesel, but even that, with the collapse of the food economy, had become harder and harder to find. It was the truck he'd taken on his expeditions out of the city to find scran; it was the truck in which he'd found Bannock; it was the truck that Elder Tull hoped would soon carry him and the others to the safety of that haven. 
Elder descended the stairs until they terminated at a footpath, leading down to the floor of the ravine. He followed a stream that ran the length of the ravine until he reached a marker that indicated the path up to the Candy Kitchen. In the dark, he climbed the wooded hill.
Elder had miraculously survived his plummet into the icy cold of the ship canal. How, he could only guess. He'd stayed under for as long as he could stand, though the fall had knocked all the air out of his lungs. He'd come up coughing and splashing and scrambling for air. The current of the canal had pulled him a good two hundred yards downstream, the raised decks of the bridge dark in the distance. 
Almost immediately, Elder had dived again and swam as deeply into the gloom as he dared. He let the current take him, only surfacing when he could stand the lack of air no more.
He'd pulled himself out of the water between two moored fishing boats. He'd sloshed his way ashore and found the small green and white taxi parked in a side street. He'd pulled the driver out of the car and knocked him cold with a quick right hook. The keys had been in the ignition.
With the Fremont Bridge out of operation and the chaos from the explosion downtown, traffic was snarled. Night had fallen before Elder could make his way across town. As Elder let himself in through the basement sliding door of the Candy Kitchen, the rest of the group was sitting, watching the news broadcast of the bombing, which stretched across all six of Prime's computer displays.
The news wasn't good.
"How'd it go?" Beat asked, turning in her chair as Elder dropped his soaking wet body onto one of the couches.
"Fine," Elder replied, scratching at his beard. "Anything to eat?"





Chapter 16

They shot the first Puke at 6pm. 
He was pushed to his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back and shot in the back of the head. His dead body fell face-first into the rubble of Westlake Square. 
Three more Pukes kneeling in a line followed, all shot execution-style. The police captain used his service automatic, popping each in turn, walking the length of the line. 
His victims had waited while he read out loud the full list of each Puke's crimes. He'd read them from an electric tablet handed to him by a fellow officer. It had been less than four hours since the bombing in the square, and EMT crews were still working into the dusk. But a small number of Stems had braved the danger to come and watch the execution. The TV channels all carried it live. 
The four Pukes had all been arrested within the vicinity of Westlake minutes after the bombing. All were summarily executed for the crimes of terrorism and murder. They were old men and women, transients all, who'd managed to slip the police's incarceration sweeps by having no fixed address.
Four Pukes dead – arrested, tried, sentenced and executed in under four hours – all for a terrorist attack no one genuinely suspected them of committing. But the sight of four dead Pukes was all that mattered. The nation had to see four Pukes dead to alleviate the fact that so many Stems were dead or dying. 
It was a message received loud and clear by Elder and the others as they watched in shocked silence in the Candy Kitchen.
 
#

Nathan was watching it, too, back in the penthouse condo, surrounded by a new phalanx of the Mayor's security personnel. They had been brought in to replace those killed or injured in the blast. A doctor was patching the cuts on Nathan's face as he watched the 80" LED television with cold detachment. 
Peters, bloodied and with an ear that seemed half bitten off, was talking into his phone. He was circling, barking orders at the physician. His own injuries hadn't fazed Peters, but the fact that Nathan looked like he'd come off poorly in a Tijuana bar fight most certainly did. Peters was frantically trying to put some spin on the whole situation.
Jude was lying on the white couch, an open pack of cigarettes and an ashtray full of spent ends beside her. When each cigarette was finished, she lit the next with the still burning end of the last. One after another. She sucked in large lungfuls of the smoke, letting it out slowly.
"God damn, motherfucking Puke, son-of-a-bitch, bastard, cock-sucking Puke whores!" Peters sprayed, dialing something on his phone. "This is what we get!" He poked an angry finger toward the television. "This is what we get when we're nice. When we play fair... We just tried to do right by those skull-fucked, syphilitic ass sores, and this is how they repay us!"
Nathan didn't move, Nathan didn't flinch. The doctor was taping something to Nathan's right cheek. 
"That Puke bar," Jude spoke up, woozy. "Those dead cops. Now this. No one's going to be talking about internment anymore. Not tomorrow. Not after the shock wears off and the American people start getting mad." Jude remained horizontal on the couch, puffing at her cigarette between sentences. "Supreme Court decision or not, tomorrow any Pukes left in this country will have taken their last breath of free air."
"Too fucking right," Peter agreed as his call was going through. "Kill every last motherfucking one of them for all I care– Hi, yeah, it's Peters..."
As Peters' voice trailed off into his phone call, Nathan focused in on the television. The crowd in Westlake Square was hefting up the dead bodies of the executed Pukes, displaying the corpses to the cameras, cheering and shaking fists in defiance. Nathan reached over and took one of Jude's cigarettes from the pack, lighting its tip with her lighter.
"The wolves are already circling," Jude said to Nathan. "Peters has stalled the press, but everyone is going to want to hear your take on this attack. Any idea what you're going to say?" Jude asked, her head slightly raised on the edge of the white couch. She took a deep drag of her cigarette and Nathan followed suit, holding the scalding mix of tobacco and cannabis in his lungs for as long as he could.
"It was no terrorist attack," Nathan corrected, exhaling. He coughed, leaning forward and resting the cigarette against the ashtray. "It was an assassination attempt."
Jude sat up in shock. The phone came away from Peters' ear. For a moment, everything was quiet.
"What?" Jude asked, raising her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.
"It was an assassination attempt," Nathan repeated. "I saw the bomber right before the explosion. The bomb... this..." Nathan pointed at the TV. "This is collateral damage. I was the target, he was trying to kill me."
Peters disconnected his call.





Chapter 17

"We're not having this conversation again!" Sweet Beat's fist crashed down on the table. Elder and Kevin jumped as the breakfast plates rattled. Prime glanced over from the stove where he was cooking eggs and grimaced. Only Eydie was silent, sitting at the foot of the table. "You two idiots have fucked things up beyond all recognition! Your speaking privileges have been revoked! As soon as we've eaten, we're loading up the Wagoneer and getting the hell out of here! If we make it out of town alive, it will be a miracle, what with the shit storm you've created!" 
"I didn't mean to–" Elder began.
"Fuck!" Beat punctuated, cutting Elder off short.
"Sweet's right," Prime agreed, stepping over to the table and portioning out the eggs. Luckily, Prime had held back some bounty from his excursion to Bannock, keeping the best for himself. Like fresh eggs. The breakfast used up all of them, but the smell made Elder's mouth water. He dug in as Prime was still ladling out of the pan. "Bannock is our best chance now. It's too damn hot here in town. There're no more internment raids, no more arrests. They're shooting Pukes on sight now in retribution for the attack yesterday."
"I didn't mean to–" Elder said through a mouthful of eggs.
"I'm not arguing," Kevin spoke up. "I just think it's too hot to be out on the street right now. Give it a couple days, let things calm down. The Candy Kitchen is safe, we're off everyone's radar here. Prime's got this place locked up like a fortress... cameras, guns, booby traps... I think holding out here until the frenzy dies down wouldn't hurt us. Besides, if we've got to shoot it out, better here than in the streets."
"I didn't mean to..." Elder tried again, after swallowing.
"And remember: they have his face," Kevin continued, pointing at the television playing above the breakfast table. They did have his face, all over the news. The shot taken by one of the dark-suited men on the streetcar. Elder Tull looking haggard and bloodied. It was playing in solid rotation on all channels and all stations. Elder had instantaneously become the most wanted man in America. "We have to do something about Elder before we can even think of making a move."
"I didn't mean to," Elder said, with no small measure of self pity. He'd actually forgotten what he hadn't meant to do, but the sound of the words comforted him. 
"That could be any Puke," Prime said, looking up at the television. He'd sat down and picked up his fork, preparing to eat his breakfast. "It is every Puke, if you know what I mean."
"He's right," Eydie spoke up in her little voice, making everyone at the table jump. "Prime's right, Kevin's right, Sweet's right. You're all right. We need to get out of town, but we won't make it a hundred yards looking like we do now." She leaned forward and began to eat the eggs sitting in front of her, only pausing to add salt. 
"Eydie?" Elder said in surprise.
"We need to clean ourselves up." Eydie said between bites. "Everyone. After breakfast. Beards, hair, clothes. We need to look like Stems. We need to become Stems. Stems are perfect. We need to look perfect. Everyone. We were all young and attractive once, I can remember." She looked around the table at the shocked faces watching her eat. "I'm sure some remnant is left under all the dirt and grime."
"Eydie?" Elder said again. "You're back?"
"Back? Where did I go?"
"Back in the land of the living?" Beat added.
"Ah," Eydie finished her breakfast and wiped her mouth on her napkin. "Yes."
"So, we clean ourselves up and we get out of town, right?" Prime asked.
"No, no, not yet," Eydie said, looking down at her empty plate.
"No?" 
"No. Not until we've settled all our business here in town."

#

Like a light turned on in a darkened room, Eydie was back. The tragedies of the past few days that had so loaded her down seemed to instantly, mysteriously melt away. She was her old self – not just the hungry, scavenging Puke, but the old Eydie as Elder remembered her from their youth. She was suddenly, unquestionably back in charge of the group. A fact that made Elder eternally grateful. His short tenure as group leader had not turned out well, and he was already doing his best to forget that it had ever happened. 
The girls dived into the project of the group's Puke-to-Stem makeovers with gusto. Sweet Beat and Eydie vanished together into the bathroom, filling the house with steam and the continual sound of girlish giggles from the shower. 
Elder's interest was piqued, and he hovered around the bathroom door, attempting to catch a glimpse of something through a keyhole. His interest was more than rewarded. A silence momentary fell over the hijinks in the bathroom, and then the door flew open and Elder was pulled into the bathroom by two slick, naked bodies.
Elder was stripped and pushed headfirst into a bath of scalding hot water. Beat and Eydie were right behind, sinking into the steamy, soapy tub beside Elder, sloshing the water over and out onto the floor. 
With three bodies in the old, steel, claw-footed tub, there was little room to maneuver. Soap was generously applied to Elder's grubby hide and he was scrubbed from head to toe. The experience more than excited Elder, who prominently displayed his newly rediscovered physical prowess. Beat paid extra special attention it this part of his anatomy, soaping it off almost beyond the point of Elder's tolerance. 
Just when Elder thought he could take no more, the girls hauled him out of the bath, propping him up in an old wicker chair, and started in with scissors and a razor on his hair and beard. They were a whirling circle of bare breasts and moving blades. Elder could do nothing but attempt to remain still, a feat made almost impossible by his ungratified erection.
Presently, the girls were satisfied. They held a hand-mirror up before Elder, showing off their handiwork. Elder was shocked, looking at the young man in the mirror. With his beard removed and his hair cut into some semblance of style, he looked... well, handsome. Elder could hardly give it credit, but some part of his memory recalled that he had once been handsome. Beat and Eydie seemed overjoyed with their success, peppering Elder's now bare cheeks with kisses.
Sweet Beat found a towel to wrap around herself and gathered up the razors and sheers. While Eydie ran her fingers through Elder's soft, sweet smelling hair, Beat let herself out of the bathroom.
"I think I'll find Kevin and see how he's coming along," she said with a wink. 
Eydie didn't let Elder up out of the chair. 
She straddled him, taking him inside her, slowly lowering herself down onto his lap. Elder moaned with pleasure. He wrapped his arms around her small, naked body as she worked herself into a rhythm. Elder didn't last long. Neither did Eydie. They climaxed together, flopping like rags off the old, wicker chair and onto the floor. 
"I'm– I'm–" Elder muttered in the steam of the bathroom. But Eydie kissed him, long and slow. For the first time in as long as Elder could remember, he felt a joy that had nothing to do with food. 

#

Elder helped himself to a set of clean clothes from Prime's stores in an abandoned bedroom. A pair of khaki slacks and a blue shirt. Slipping his feet into a relatively new pair of sneakers, he felt revitalized. 
He caught a glimpse of himself in a window pane as he passed and smiled. Yeah, he could pass for a Stem, he thought. Okay, he didn't have the upper body definition, no muscle mass, but he was as thin as rake. He was hardly recognizable as the Elder Tull from the grainy, camera phone picture broadcast on the news. The transformation was almost perfect.
Eydie came out of the bathroom as Elder passed, wearing a tight, black skirt and attempting to put earrings in her ears. She winced as she pushed the pins though piercings that had long since overgrown.
Her transformation was also perfect.
She'd cut off her dreads, and now sported a short, styled mop. She was wearing makeup, perhaps for the first time in her life, and a men's shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. Without a doubt, she could pass for a Stem, with a waist that Elder could almost circle with his hands. She seemed tiny, smaller than Elder remembered. But beautiful. More beautiful than Elder thought he could stand.
"You look..." she began when she spotted Elder in the hall. "You look human..." Elder rubbed his chin and smiled. She kissed him, balancing on her toes to do so, then turned and headed towards the kitchen.
Where had this Eydie come from? Elder asked himself. All of a sudden, she was human, too. The walking vegetable, what the arrest of Steve had left behind, had vanished, replaced by a walking, talking, laughing and fucking Eydie. The last part Elder especially liked. Where had that come from? 
Elder followed Eydie down the hall and into the Candy Kitchen's actual kitchen. Elder was surprised by the sight of a tall, handsome black man sitting across the table from Eydie.
"Kevin?" Elder asked in shock. 
Kevin looked up and titled his head to the side. "Elder?" Kevin replied. There was a long moment while each examined the transformation in the other. Neither could really believe his eyes.
"You look..." Elder began.
"...Good." Kevin finished.
"Like a couple of fuckin' Stems," Beat said, entering the room. "At least, I hope." 
"You look... normal," Elder said with disappointment. 
Of everyone's makeovers, Sweet Beat's had made the smallest transformation. The ravages of the Stem Era had affected her less than the others – at least physically. In fact, her transformation made her look downright dowdy. For a woman who routinely wore bikini tops with combat boots, the sight of her in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt was almost shocking. If not for her arms covered in tattoos, she could have easily been mistaken for any average, time-card pushing office drone. 
"Fuck you," Beat said, flipping Elder the bird.
"I feel like such a tool..." Prime's voice sounded as he moved sheepishly into the room. Everyone except Beat began to laugh. Beat had trimmed Prime's beard back, but not cut it completely off, and styled his hair into something approaching a haircut. His aviator-style eyeglasses were gone, replaced by a more fashionable pair of horned-rimmed spectacles. Beat had dressed him in horizontal stripes, hoping to slim him down optically as much as possible. It hadn't done any good. He still looked like an overfed giant. It was hard not to laugh.
"What?" Beat raised her hands in despair. "I did the best with what I had to work with! Someone else want to make a fucking silk purse out of this sow's ear?"
"No, no," Eydie chuckled. "You did great."
"I'm staying in the car until we get to Bannock," Prime said dejectedly, looking down at his shoes. This called for a second round of laughter.
 "Lets get the fuck out of here," Beat added when the childish chuckling had faded.
"No, no," Eydie interrupted. "We're not heading for Bannock. At least, not yet."
"What?" Beat shot back in surprise. "Then what the hell's all this preening been about?"
"We still have unfinished business here in town."
"Yeah, you said." Kevin raised an eyebrow. "What–"
"We're not leaving a man behind," Eydie said. She picked up the remote control and flicked on the television that hung over the breakfast table. The news was mid-stream, carrying an interview with Steve. He was denouncing the terrorist attack in Westlake Square, and calling on the government to act quickly to apprehend those responsible before they had the chance to strike again.
"What? Who?" Kevin was looking back and forth between the TV and Eydie. "Steve? You want to go rescue Steve?"
"That shit-sucking Stem?" Beat added, pointing at the screen.
"No, not rescue." Eydie said calmly, fiddling with the new rings on her fingers.
"That's insane," Beat said coldly, regarding Eydie through half-shut eyelids.
"Not insane," Eydie replied, look up and fixing Beat with a piercing stare. "We owe him that much."





Chapter 18

The interview lasted only five minutes, but that was all it took for Nathan to make his statement. It was no longer his job to try and comfort the American people; he was no longer an apologist for the actions of the State. He was free now to speak from his heart, and condemn the atrocity that had occurred in Westlake Square. He held his tongue only with regard to the fact that the bomb in the square had been meant for him – there'd be no easy way to explain that. The fact that Nathan's war with those he had once called friends had caused so much pain and suffering... it was a fact that Nathan would always have to live with, but not the rest of the world.
There were three men standing outside the suite waiting for Nathan when the interview came to an end. Two Nathan recognized as police, or somehow connected with Nathan's security detail. The third was a stocky man – not fat, as that would be impossible with the WLI, but naturally bulky – dressed in a finely tailored suit. He was speaking with Jude as Nathan exited the suite, but stepped away from her, holding out his hand to Nathan as he closed the door behind him.
"Nathan Pope?" the man asked. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Arnold, Charles Arnold. I'm head of the city's security agency. These are my boys that have been looking after you." He motioned to the security detail guarding the elevators and stairwell doors. "I hope they've been treating you well."
"Yes, thank you very much." Nathan took Arnold's hand, shook it, and attempted to slip by. He was in no mood for a conversation with some city functionary. Arnold sidestepped and blocked Nathan's path, Jude stepping up to double the blockade.
"I have a few questions to ask you... about the bombing yesterday in Westlake."
"I– I already talked to the police," Nathan said.
 "No, I'm not with the police, Nathan." Arnold lifted a wide hand and placed it on Nathan's shoulder, squeezing. "If we can go upstairs, to talk."
"It's all right, Nathan," Jude reassured. "I asked Arnold to come and talk to you."
Nathan shrugged. Jude smiled. What harm could it do? Nathan thought, and allowed Arnold to lead him to the elevator.

#

"Do you recognize this man?" Arnold held out the grainy image of Elder Tull, the same image that the police had shown to Nathan. Nathan shook his head. He'd told the police the same thing. "No? Never? It's not a good shot, maybe if you took a closer look." 
Arnold handed Nathan the picture. Nathan looked it over and handed it back, still shaking his head. Nathan, Jude and Arnold were sitting at the dining table of the penthouse condo, everyone smoking a cigarette. Jude took Nathan's hand, squeezing it gently.
"Then let me tell you what we know," Arnold continued, taking a drag off his cigarette and snuffing it out in the ashtray. "He's called Elder Tull, though we're unclear on his real name. No known address, no known associates. We can place him at the explosion in the U-district two nights ago – the one that killed all those cops. It would fit his MO. And here we have him, striking again, not twenty four hours later. This time killing two of my men in the explosion. Busy little bee for a Puke. Are you sure this face doesn't ring a bell?" Arnold held up the photo.
Nathan didn't react. He knew it was a rhetorical question. 
"And then there's that mysterious assailant hiding in the shadows on the Ave that originally brought you to our attention. No one could find him, but you got a good look at him, didn't you, Nathan? Look anything like this guy?" Again, the photo was held up.
Nathan finished his cigarette and took another out of the pack.
"Okay, you're not in a chatty mood... So, I'll tell you what I think: This is one of your old crew, from your Puke days, with a hard-on for pulling your stem... now that you have one. That bombing down in Westlake wasn't just some random act of violence, but an attempt to snuff you out... killing a whole lot of regular folks in the bargain. Any of this sound familiar?"
Nathan shot an accusatory look at Jude. Jude tried to smile. "I had to tell somebody, baby. For your own protection."
Nathan turned back to Arnold. "Maybe you should speak to Peters..." He brought his cigarette to his lips.
"I don't need to speak to Peters," Arnold said a little too quickly, a little too forthrightly.
"What?" Nathan asked, now suspicious. "What?" He turned to Jude.
"Peters..." she scrambled. "The Big U... they just didn't have your best interests at heart, honey..."
"Peters is out?" Nathan asked in surprise.
"Jude came to me, concerned about your safety," Arnold added.
"I– I don't understand," Nathan said. But the fact was that he was beginning to. First Peters cut Waverly out, now Jude cut Peters out and added Charles Arnold. 
"It has been city security keeping you safe thus far, Mr. Pope. You can trust us to keep you that way."
"Thank– Thank you..." Nathan nodded, trying to force a smile.
"I'll be handling your interview schedule from here on out, baby," Jude again squeezed Nathan's hand. "There's nothing for you to worry about."





Chapter 19

After a week of trying, it became obvious that there was no getting near Steve.
The security around him was far too tight. The Belltown condominium complex, completely occupied for Steve's safety and comfort, was locked down tighter than a bank vault. He never left the structure. The media always came to him, filming in one of the many, empty condo units that filled the twenty-story structure. Eydie played with the idea of posing as a news crew, but she quickly abandoned it – the equipment required to convincingly pull off such a ruse was prohibitively expensive, and decidedly difficult to steal. 
Inevitably, Eydie was forced to be satisfied with sitting and waiting for Steve's eventual exit from his impenetrable castle. An event as rare as a blue moon. As a second week began to slip away from them, the risk that the police might soon discover the Candy Kitchen almost spurred Eydie to give up on the whole enterprise. Then Prime saw a headline in the PI: "Dr. Nolan Raul to Visit Seattle. Pay His Respects at Westlake Memorial, Host Round Table."
Doctor Stem. Here in Seattle.
It was perfect.
Doctor Nolan Raul, aka Doctor Stem. The inventor and patent holder of the Whole Life Interface. CEO and Chief Scientist of Whole Life Inc. Doctor Stem! The man himself. The Father of the Stem, coming to Seattle to host a round table at the Opera House. A black-tie affair with a very special guest: Nathan Pope. The Last Puke. 
It was everything Eydie had been waiting for. And so, so much more. Not just an event that demanded Steve's departure from his sky fortress, but a public event that put Steve in the same room with Stem serial #1: Doctor Raul. The first man ever to be implanted. 
Eydie could almost taste the irony.
The group fell into their roles: Eydie and Kevin vanished into the Candy Kitchen's basement, cooking up an extra special surprise to celebrate the event. Elder and Beat busied themselves shopping for the evening wear they'd require with what was left of Prime's liquid funds. Prime moved across the ravine to his garage to prepare the Wagoneer for service. 
Elder and Sweet bought Elder a three hundred dollar suit that fit like a sack, and Kevin one much like it. For the ladies, Beat purchased two long, flowing size-zero dresses. Elder could imagine Eydie fitting into one, but Beat just spilled out the sides of hers, something she happily displayed to Elder in the changing room of the store. 
It was perfect, Beat had commented, slipping out of the dress. She'd had the store clerk wrap them up. 
Prime was a lost cause. His bulk was just too noticeable, no matter what costumes Beat dressed him in. Fortunately, there was plenty of work for Prime in the relative safety and privacy of the Wagoneer. Prime began rigging the truck as a mobile command center, wiring up communications and video feeds via pinhole cameras. He also dusted off his armory, oiling and loading a selection of handguns. 
They'd go into the Opera House armed. And shoot their way out if they had to.

#

"It's not too late to just make a break for it," Beat said, her arms covered in grease up to her elbows. She had the hood of the Wagoneer open and was rummaging adroitly around inside for the glow plugs. Elder was sitting on the bumper of his stolen taxi cab while Prime was working inside the Wagoneer, installing equipment. "This is a stupid risk," she said, coming up with a glow plug.
It was already too late to just make a break for it, and they all realized it. The city was dotted with roadblocks. Every exit out of the city was watched. The police were tightening their dragnet, attempting to catch the terrorists responsible for the bombing of Westlake Square, sweeping up what few Pukes who'd managed to evade internment as they went. Keeping a low profile and staying put had kept the group safe. Once they popped their heads up, whether to make a play for Steve or flee from the city, they'd be exposed.
"Eydie said she didn't want to leave anyone behind," Prime replied from inside the Wagoneer.
"I don't see how this move on the Opera House is going to change that," Beat said, ratcheting a new glow plug into place.
"I think she's concerned about our legacy." Prime added. 
This made Beat pause. "Legacy?" She looked around the hood of the Wagoneer. "What sort of bullshit is that?"
Prime sat up and shrugged with a screwdriver between his teeth. 
"Fucking waste of time and energy if you ask me." Beat returned to the engine. "The longer we wait, the harder it's going to be to get out of town."
Prime spat out the screwdriver between his teeth and used it to tighten something down. "Running a roadblock is a risk in itself," he said as he worked. "If we can cause enough chaos... might make slipping out of town a lot easier..."
Beat grunted. She didn't disagree, but she didn't agree either.
"Eydie still wants to hit back," Elder spoke up. "Her way. If we run away, what then? What happens when the Stems eventually find this hidden valley of Prime's? I think Eydie is thinking ahead. She's fighting, not only this battle, but the next one..."
Elder's comment was met with silence.
"Shit," Beat said.
"What?" Elder raised an eyebrow.
"That was downright insightful, Elder."
"Well..." Elder scratched his stubble-free chin. "Well, am I wrong?"
Beat laughed. "No, no, Tull, you ain't wrong..."
Prime laughed, too. 





Chapter 20

The switch happened so quickly that Nathan hardly noticed it until it was complete. 
Coming out through the main swinging doors of his condominium complex, flanked on either side by dark-suited bodyguards with bluetooth headsets in their ears, Nathan paid no attention to the second pair of dark-suited bodyguards waiting on the sidewalk. He was completely unaware as the two new bodyguards fell into step behind the first pair. 
His first indication that something was amiss came with the sound of the bodies of the original pair tumbling to the concrete. The new bodyguards didn't break their step, moving in tight and taking each of Nathan's arms. Before Nathan could react, he was bustled into a waiting town car, the one he had assumed to be his ride to the Opera House.
Peters was waiting for Nathan inside.
As the town car sped away, Nathan realized what had happened. His Mayor's Office bodyguards were lying unconscious on the sidewalk in front of the condominium complex that had been Nathan's home – the whole extent of his universe for the last week – and two new, almost identical bodyguards had seamlessly taken their place. But these bodyguards were not from Charles Arnold's city security – not with Peters present in the town car. What faction were these goons, then? Nathan looked at the large man to his left and then the large man to his right. Big U, Nathan guessed. 
"What's going on?" Nathan asked, not actually expecting an answer.
"You're a very difficult man to get an appointment with, Nathan," Peters said, his ever-present cell phone in his hand.
"You could have picked up a phone," Nathan responded sarcastically.
"I did, I did... Jude always answered." Peters tucked his phone away in his pocket, leaned forward and fixed Nathan with a concerned stare. "Let me ask you, Nathan: Was this your idea, or was it Jude's play?"
"Play?" Nathan didn't understand. "What are you...?"
Peters seemed satisfied with that answer. He leaned back in his seat and fished his phone back out of his pocket. "I suspected as much. Nathan, you don't need to worry. We'll take care of all this. My people will escort you to the Opera House. We're providing security for the whole event. Dr. Raul's people are on board. When the evening is over, we'll be taking you to a new location. The condo is... compromised."
"Compromised?" Nathan smirked. "What about Jude?"
"She a complication right now, Nathan. A complication you don't need."
"Jude's out," Nathan said flatly. He was beginning to understand.
Peters looked up from his phone. "Nathan..."
"Don't I get a say in any of this?"
"I understand." Peters looked down and began to type something into his phone. "I understand Jude provided... services. That can be taken care of."
"I–" Nathan began, but cut himself off. "This is insane!"
"Nathan, you're five minutes away from being in the same room as Doctor Nolan Raul himself. You need to focus on the task at hand, forget about this unimportant stuff."
"Forget about it?" Nathan laughed. "You've just kidnapped me."
"Rescued you, Nathan," Peters corrected. "All personal loyalties aside, you'd do well to see the big picture here, Nathan. The Universal Party is the big picture, Nathan. Jude, this town, that silly little book... that's all small time. After today, Nathan, when the nation sees you sitting next to Doctor Raul himself. Well, Nathan, who knows... who knows what could be next?"
"You're kidding me." Nathan looked between his two new bodyguards.
"Kidding?" Peters leaned forward again. "Nathan. Events like this, like this bombing, create people. You have America's attention. They're looking to you to find some sanity in all the madness. Doctor Raul and his people understand this. They wouldn't be flying all this way if you weren't a lightning rod. They need you, Nathan, and you can use them. A bump like this... well, Nathan I can't tell you how something like this might trend. What do you want, Nathan? What do you really want?"
"Out of this car," Nathan said seriously.
"Nathan, don't be an idiot!" Peters raised his hands in despair. "Stick with the winning team. You're about to go global, Nathan, when the press of this evening hits. Picture it." Peters held up his hands like he was framing a picture around Nathan's face. "The First Stem and the last Puke. It's too perfect. Periphrasis on an era of the human race. Jude. That dick Arnold... They'd just drag you down, Nathan."
Squashed between the two mountains of muscle that constituted Nathan's new security guards, Nathan felt very alone. Ever since he'd woken up in that hospital with the stem inside him, he'd felt like a product to be handled. The world was swirling around him, and all of it out of his control. Here again, he was being manipulated. Some fissure had formed between Jude and Peters that Nathan had been unaware of. Nathan's thoughts went back to that night he'd found Jude crying in the closet. What had that been about? Now, perhaps, it made a little more sense. Everything was moving so quickly, if only Nathan could find a second to stop and think...
The town car pulled onto Mercer and slowed in front of the festively lit Opera House. A crowd had gathered, waiting on the dignitaries, and an array of cameras flashed as the town car pulled up to the curb. In one quick motion, the two bodyguards pulled Nathan out of the car and up the walk towards the main entrance. The chaos of snapping bulbs and the screams of enthusiastic onlookers overwhelmed Nathan. 
Peters was behind him, talking to someone on his phone.





Chapter 21

Elder Tull felt like James Bond ,a feeling only intensified by the fact that he was wearing a high-capacity 9mm in a shoulder holster under his jacket, and the payload for the evening's festivities discreetly duct-taped under his shirt. 
He even looked the part, cutting a handsome figure in the suit Beat had purchased for him. It'd taken a few hours to take in the seams, but the end result had been well worth it. Elder looked like a million bucks. Elder looked like a super secret agent spy. Most of all, Elder looked like a Stem. This time, venturing outside the Candy Kitchen he was confident no one was going to pay him a second glance. The old Elder Tull was gone.
With Eydie on his arm, the transformation was complete. Whatever weaknesses there might have been in Elder's disguise, he felt confident no one would notice them. With Eydie anywhere within ten feet of Elder, no one would pay Elder a second glance. Eydie was stunning. The perfect splash of sex in her tight evening gown. How she'd hidden a gun in the outfit, Elder could only guess, and he longed for the evening to be over so he could strip her down and find the answer. 
But first things first.
Their scalped, potentially counterfeit tickets got them through the door. They walked through the metal-detecting arch without setting off the alarm thanks to a little gadget in Eydie's purse. How it worked, who'd built it, and how exactly he'd managed to get it, Prime was hazy about. "Don't open the box," was all that Prime had said. And when Prime tells you something like that... well, you didn't open the box.
The Opera House was busy with the cream of Seattle society.
Impossibly ageless, impossibly wealthy people milled in every direction. Cigarette and cigar smoke from the Stem's pre-event puff filled the lobby. Elder fought back an urge to cough, and Eydie elbowed him in the ribs as a small hack made its way up. They accepted cigarettes from a waiter circling the floor, but only held them near their lips, leaving them unlit. 
They spotted Sweet Beat and Kevin across the lobby floor. Kevin looked tall and mysterious, towering beside Beat. Beat, for her part, was all boobs, the tattoos on her arms painted over with foundation. Beat was fully partaking in her pre-event cigarette, blowing smoke rings in front of her, laughing as she talked to a couple. Kevin stood silently, watching. Elder caught Kevin's eye. They nodded.
When the lights in the lobby flickered, the crowd began to move en masse into the hall itself. Stems were laughing, chatting, extinguishing their cigarettes. Elder and Eydie pulled themselves to the side and watched the crowd pass. How large was the Opera House? Three thousand? It was a packed house, and potentially no one there was worth less than a hundred million dollars. An evening with Doctor Raul was an unprecedented opportunity. Absolutely everyone who was anyone was in attendance.
Including Nathan Pope.
The Last Puke. His presence on television was becoming irritating. Every show, every channel featured Nathan with his condescending condemnation of the Pukes. He himself had been a Puke not two weeks prior, and therefore he spoke with "authority" regarding the squalid conditions in which Pukes suffered. It wasn't their fault, really, the lack of food had driven most insane. Whoever had set off the bomb in Westlake Square needed help, not punishment. If they were implanted with a WLI... well, it changed people. Of course, people should be punished for their crimes, but the Pukes were ignorant, not evil. Their ignorance just makes them do evil things.
It was utter bullshit.
It ironically made Elder want to puke. But it cut into Eydie like a knife. To watch her former lover on television speaking of his old life with regret. Eydie was able to hide it, but Elder knew it was killing her inside. He knew she'd have no peace until she'd completed her mission. Then she'd be free. 
Then, perhaps, she'd truly be Elder's.
As Beat and Kevin meandered within the crowd, filtering into the hall, they passed by Elder and Eydie. Casually, Eydie stepped away from Elder and joined Kevin and Beat in the mass of people moving into the hall. Elder sunk back, finding a hidden door he only knew existed from studying the Opera House's blue prints, and vanished out of sight. 
He was on his own now as the three other Pukes found their seats in the auditorium. The fun was about to begin.

#

Nathan waited nervously in the wings stage right. The sets for a Wagner opera were hidden by the large, white projection screen that backed the stage. Perhaps tomorrow it was the Ring Cycle, but tonight it was a round table with Doctor Stem. Nathan's palms were sweating. On the stage was a single table with six seats behind it, facing the audience. 
Except for a laptop, the table was empty. Other dignitaries were waiting in the wings with Nathan: the Mayor, a local celebrity that Nathan only half recognized... but otherwise, Nathan was alone. The goons from the Big U and Peters were conspicuously absent. Doctor Raul's security had kept them back, off the stage. For the first time in a week, Nathan was alone. For almost every waking moment since his conversion, Jude had been at Nathan's side. When she'd been absent, security personnel had replaced her. The solitude was freeing. It gave Nathan a chance to think, organize his thoughts. 
What the hell was going on? What was with that switch of personnel in front of the condominium? First, Peters was out and Arnold was in; now Jude and Arnold were out and Peters was back in. Everyone pushing and shoving, and Nathan in the middle. It was driving him insane. And now here he was, with a concert hall full of people expecting him to say something interesting while sitting next to the most famous man in the world. Nathan wiped his palms on the pants of his thousand-dollar silk suit. At least he'd look good making a fool of himself.
But what if Peters was right? What if this was the beginning of a new career for Nathan? To have his name spoken of in the same sentence as Doctor Stem – to have thousands of people turn out to hear Nathan's take on the Puke situation – it could be the beginning of something big. Celebrity, money, position. Perhaps even a run for political office? There was no denying that Nathan had struck a chord with the American people. Jude had handled things well. Nathan's face was everywhere, and he was setting the tone for the national discussion of the terrorist attack at Westlake. 
And Nathan still had his ace in the hole. At the right moment, he could whip out the identity of the mad bomber and send the cops to his exact location. Elder Tull had to be hiding out at the Candy Kitchen. Where else could he have gone? If he'd been at the old apartment, the police would have picked him up in a sweep before the second bombing. No, the Prime Administrator's little fortress was the best place to run to when the world was collapsing around your ears, and that bomb in the square had the Prime Administrator written all over it. Yeah, Elder Tull and the others would be waiting at the Candy Kitchen for the police when Nathan decided it was time to have them picked up. 
Nathan would be a hero on top of everything else.
But he'd have to do something about Peters. Once Elder and the others were swept up, he wouldn't need the Big U goon squad to keep him safe anymore. And he didn't need Peters to do his press – his press could take care of itself. He could go back to Jude...
No, Nathan thought, he didn't need her, either. He didn't need Arnold and his city goons to keep him safe. And Peters was right: after the press coverage of this evening hit, Nathan would be so much bigger than any little, fake biography Jude had in the pipe. What good was she to Nathan? None. Just another whiny hanger-on. 
He'd play along with Peters for now, but the time was fast approaching for Nathan to make a play himself.

#

In the small room behind the half-hidden door, Elder found a coat rack full of usher's jackets. He slipped his off and pulled on one of the garish, red affairs. It hid his shoulder holster acceptably. He quickly dodged back out the door.
Out again amongst the crowd, Elder tried to play his new role: from James Bond to obedient usher, he gently encouraged the slowly moving crowd to find their seats. Elder took the grand staircase up toward the balcony, stopping to help a few couples check their tickets. Whether the directions Elder gave them were any help, he had no idea, but he had sounded authoritative. 
On the balcony, Elder let himself through a door marked 'private' and hopped up a short flight of stairs, taking him higher into the building. He was away from the lush comfort of the public Opera House now, and the corridors were stark white and businesslike. From his memory of the blue prints, Elder followed the halls, past quiet, unoccupied offices, until he came to an unremarkable-looking door with security glass comprising its upper half. 
Elder moved towards it quietly, keeping low and out of sight. Peaking through the glass, he saw the control room for the auditorium: a large bank of computers and control boards flashing softly in the gloom. 
Three figures sat at the control boards. The man in the center gave a gesture to the woman sitting to his right, and the houselights of the auditorium began to dim. He made a second gesture to the man sitting to his left, and a prerecorded message to turn off all cell phones began to play. Elder lowered himself down and rested up against the closed door. He dug around in his pocket for his Bluetooth headset, attaching it to his ear.
"Prime," Elder whispered. "Prime, are you there?"
"Yep," Prime's voice came over the ear bud.
"I'm in position."
"Understood. What's it look like?"
"Lights. Sound. And a stage manager," Elder relayed. He took his pistol out of its holster, along with something wrapped in brown paper out of his pants pocket. "Shouldn't be a problem."
"Good Luck," Prime said. "I'll pass the word to those on the floor."
"Okay," Elder clicked off his Bluetooth. He checked the breach of his pistol, making sure it was loaded. Satisfied, he rested the gun on his lap and unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a chunk of unleavened bread. He munched away with satisfaction as the sound of applause rose up from the auditorium below.

#

The thunder of applause and the explosion of spotlights temporarily stunned Nathan. He hadn't expected such a reaction to the moment he stepped out onto the stage. He automatically looked over his shoulder, wondering who the crowd was cheering for. He realized it was him. Suddenly, all the posturing and maneuvering began to make sense. Not until he finally came face-to-face with his celebrity did Nathan truly understand the actions of those around him. He was a star, a media darling for doing... well, nothing... for being the last Puke modified. 
Nathan found his assigned seat at the podium, the spotlights still glaring. 
The welcome for Nathan had been warm, but the standing ovation for Doctor Raul brought down the house. As the small, gray-haired man stepped spryly out onto the stage, the whole auditorium rose to its feet, cheering. In the span of thirty seconds, Nathan had both come to terms with the extent of his own celebrity, and then seen it eclipsed by a true megastar. Nathan couldn't help but applaud along with everyone at the sheer force of Doctor Raul's personality.
The minor, local celebrity came out of the wings with a microphone and took a position center stage. He motioned for the audience to return to their seats, and slowly the applause died away.
"Thank you, thank you all! What a warm welcome!" the MC began. "You love me, you really love me!" He bowed, the audience tittered at his joke. "No, seriously, thank you all. It's wonderful to see such an excellent turnout, this evening, for this once-in-a-lifetime event. And on a school night, too." Chuckles. "Seriously, I'd like to thank the Chamber of Commerce for hosting this event. We are blessed this evening to have here in Seattle the incomparable Doctor Nolan Raul!" Applause. The MC turned to the podium and bowed to the Doctor. "Sir, it is the greatest of honors." 
The MC turned back to the audience, taking up the microphone again. "Now, amongst the Doctor's incalculable achievements, he has to his credit the distinction of being the first man in history to be implanted with his very own invention: the Whole Life Interface." More applause. "To the Doctor's right we have his very opposite number. A man who, just two weeks ago, had adamantly resisted the inextricable shift of history. Known to the media as The Last Puke, Nathan Pope!" A swell of applause. Nathan stood and waved. "Yes, the Alpha and Omega of the WLI. Two unique and contrasting perspectives on the current crisis this fair city is facing."
The MC's tone turned solemn. "I hope you will all join me in a moment of silence for those who lost their lives in the terrible events last week in our wonderful city. To those who were killed by the blast in Westlake Square, and those law enforcement officers who died in the line of duty doing the great work of our Government, sacrificing all to serve and protect the citizens of this great nation."
The hall fell into silence as heads bowed in respect.
"Now," the MC's voice broke the stillness. "You've all heard enough from me!" Titters of laughter. "So, without further adieu, I will hand the microphone over to our guest of honor, Doctor Nolan Raul!" 
A resurgence of applause filled the auditorium as Dr. Raul rose to feet. The applause sustained, delaying the proceedings for a solid three minutes.
"Thank you, thank you," Dr. Raul attempted to quiet the crowd, waving his arms. When the crowd finally fell quiet, the Doctor continued. "I am very grateful for such a warm welcome." The Doctor spoke with an unspecific, but foreign accent. "In these trying times, it is heartwarming to see such solidarity. That you all would come out this evening is an act of personal bravery on the part of each and every one of you. Again, my most heartfelt thanks to you all."
The crowd again erupted into a cacophony of hoots and whistles. Nathan couldn't resist the energy that filled the room. He applauded right along, adding a few of his own cheers. The power the Doctor commanded over the room was stunning.
"Now," the Doctor continued, once the crowd had again found its seats. "I have been asked by many to speak to the event that took place here in Seattle, in your Westlake Square, no less than a week prior. I want to take this opportunity to condemn the terrorist attack most strongly, and call for the capture, trial and execution of all those responsible for such a heinous act." This was met with brief but agreeable applause. "But, as a physician, a man of science, it is incumbent on me to look at such events dispassionately. 
"I will make no illusion that such a task is an easy one for me to undertake. With the wounds of the assault still so fresh, it is hard to speak coldly, analytically about the dire conditions of the unmodified in our society. But I believe that it is important for us all do so – attempt to rein in our passions and consider all the factors that contributed to the horrific events of this past week..."

#

"Wait, I want to hear this," Eydie's voice came over Elder's Bluetooth. Elder was paused, gun raised, with the handle of the control room door half-turned. He stumbled a little, trying to remain completely silent.
"What's he saying?" Prime's voice said in Elder's ear.
"Shh," Eydie signaled. She was listening. Elder strained to hear Doctor Raul's voice through the walls of the auditorium, but the amplification was too muffled to understand. "I think he's..." Eydie continued. "I think he's saying that the Stems might be at some fault..."
There was silence. Voices murmured in Elder's ear bud. The duct tape holding the payload against Elder's flesh was beginning to itch. He was almost prostrate on the sparsely carpeted hallway floor, holding the handgun in his left hand. He felt exposed, impatient to get on with his assigned task.
"Well?" Elder asked. "Are we aborting?" Silence. "Shit, someone say something..."

#

"...But all this being said, it is always easy to question the actions of those in power. To play armchair general, and to second-guess the decisions of those who are forced by reality to act quickly for the greater good of all. I will be no such armchair general, today or any other day. I will state my apprehensions at the actions of our Government, but I will not denounce them, for I have not walked a mile in the shoes of those I choose to criticize.
"So I reiterate: while the actions of the State might have been regrettable, the full nature of the measures taken must be contrasted with the minority nature of those targeted by the seizures. That the ideas of this small group of holdouts contrast so acutely with the will of the great expanse of humanity potentially indicates that no fair, measured solution would have sufficiently dealt with the problem. That their numbers are so few, and their beliefs are so extreme, inevitably dictate that their ideology would end in an act of violence."





Chapter 22

"Fuck it," Eydie's voice finally came over the Bluetooth. "This is bullshit. Do it."
Almost with relief, Elder Tull turned the door's handle. He pulled himself upright and stepped into the room, attracting no attention from its three occupants.
"Spot 4, go to 70 in 4, 3, 2 ..." the stage manager said. He cocked a finger, like a gun, and shot it at the lighting tech. When his thumb hammer fell, he said: "Now..." 
While the lighting tech pushed a slider forward on her control board, Elder cocked his gun at the stage manager's head.
"Move and you're fucking dead," Elder said, trying to keep the hand holding the gun steady. The stage manager looked up in terror, right down the barrel of the black handgun. His hands came up, palms forward, still making pistols with his fingers. The lighting tech let out a small scream.
With his freehand, Elder began to unbutton his shirt. 
"What– What do you want?" the stage manager asked, unable to take his eyes off the gun.
"Here." Elder winced in pain as he pulled something out from under his shirt, ripping a strip of hair free from his skin. The payload emerged and Elder held out a small, black rectangle still wrapped in the silver tape.
"What the fuck?" the stage manager said to the sweaty black rectangle, almost in tears. "What's that?"
Elder gestured at the ceiling of the control room with the nozzle of his gun. 
"What?" The Manager looked up at the ceiling tiles.
"Just–" Elder realized he wasn't making himself clear. "Just– Ah, fuck." Elder pushed the stage manager aside, sending his chair rolling into the sound tech. Elder slapped the black block down on the control panel and began to fumble with wires. 
"What are you... doing?" the lighting tech asked. Elder turned to face her with the pistol. Her hands instantly flew into the air.
Elder turned back to his payload. "What's this?" Elder held up a wire protruding from the control panel. "Anyone?" He waved the gun in a circle.
"Um, firewire?" the terrified sound tech offered.
"Firewire? What sort of connector is this?" Elder held up the wire.
"Shit, I don't know!" 
Elder pulled the offending cable completely out of the control panel and tossed it over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and came back with a small, coiled cable. He began to attach it to the panel.
"Is that some sort of bomb?" the lighting tech asked.
Elder laughed. He'd being waiting to be fed that line all week. He'd been practicing his response in the mirror back at the Candy Kitchen. "It'll blow your mind!" he said theatrically, bobbing his head to an unheard beat. 
It had sounded better in the bathroom.
"Oh, it's da bomb..." he tried. 
No, it was too late. Now he just sounded crazy.
He tied the control panel into the sweaty black block and a bank of lights under the duct tape began to flash. The device emitted a soft whir, and Elder stepped back in triumph.
"Okay, ready in the control room," he said to his Bluetooth.
"It is a bomb!" the stage manager realized, jumping to his feet. Elder swung out with the butt of his gun and connected with the bridge of the stage manager's nose.
"Oh, it's da bomb!" Elder tried again. 
No, still sounded crazy...

#

"Okay, ready in the control room," Eydie heard Elder say through her ear bud. She reached down under her seat for her purse and came up with a small, silver smart phone. She flicked it awake with her thumb, to the disapproving glances of her neighbors, and checked the time. From the menu, she opened a plain-looking, custom application written by Prime. Quickly, her screen began to fill with a jumble of indecipherable text. 
"Ready, Prime?" she asked her ear bud. A thin woman wearing far too much mascara shushed her.
"Ready," Prime's voice came back. "I've got green on the dongle. Green on your console. At your discretion, my lady..."
"Then let the games begin," Eydie said, tapping at her phone.

#

Nathan's first clue that the evening had taken a strange turn came when the spotlights cut out. They'd been continuously beaming into his eyes, blinding him. All though Dr. Raul's speech, he'd been fighting the urge to shade his eyes with his hand. He kept blinking instead, occasionally wiping a tear from his eyes. 
But all at once, the spotlights dimmed. The stage was bathed in darkness. Dr. Raul faltered mid-sentence, looking up toward the control room of the auditorium. A murmur of concern rose from the audience. 
Then, a single light from the rear of the auditorium illuminated the stage. It was painfully bright, more than just a spotlight. Nathan threw up a hand to protect his eyes and turned away from the blinding glare. Through the dancing spots in front of his eyes, he began to make out images being projected against the projection screen behind him: dancing shapes, letters.
Then the music began.

#

The two million lumen projector above the control room was delivering Eydie's 'payload' for all the auditorium to see. Her multimedia presentation, with accompanying thundering soundtrack, cast itself the full height and width of the stage. Dr. Raul was bathed in it, along with Steve. The images and colors encircled them, reflecting back at the audience. 
The soundtrack had a decidedly new wave, techno beat, featuring a sample of the "Where's the Beef" lady repeating her catch phrase. The images were a mixture of classic Julia Child cooking shows, nature videos of lions eating zebras, a golden-age porno clip of an obese woman masturbating with a banana, and a long sustained shot of a cow taking a dump in a field. It hit at an eye-scolding pace and at a deafening volume. The video lasted no more than thirty seconds before it began to loop.
Almost instantly, the audience began to panic. Coutured couples climbed to their feet and sprinted for the exits. Eydie remained seated, making minor adjustments to the video speed and volume level via her phone. 
Chaos reigned all around her as she sat at the eye of the hurricane. 
Those that weren't panicked by the presentation were hurried along when smoke began to rise from the front of the auditorium. Kevin and Beat had positioned themselves strategically near the stage, where they'd triggered green and blue smoke canisters on Eydie's cue. The plumes of colored smoke began to give the whole event a hair-rock sort of feel, as the projector looped to the start of its video.
"Okay, time to wrap this up," Prime's voice came over Eydie's ear bud. 
"But I'm just starting to have fun..." Eydie said, smiling, as welldressed people all around her clawed at each other, fighting towards the exits.
"Wrap it up if you want to get out alive," Prime said soberly. Then he added, "Notice I said If."
"Okay, okay..." Eydie conceded, tapping the icon for the finale macro. She secured her phone away in her purse and rose from her seat. Before her, three stories tall, the video project cut to a black screen. Slowly, in large block capitals, words faded into view, like the teaser to some science-fiction blockbuster:
"IF MY BELLY RULES MY MIND," it read, "THEN WHAT RULES YOU?"

#

It would have disappointed Eydie to learn that Nathan had seen none of this. When the first thump of the music hit, bodyguards came charging out of the wings. A phalanx fell in around Dr. Raul, bustling him quickly away stage left. Nathan's new Big U goons hurried him off stage right. Before Nathan could realize what was going on, he was in the rear seat of his town car, a bodyguard at each shoulder, speeding away from the Opera House.
"What the hell?" Nathan asked no one, looking back over his shoulder, watching the Opera House recede through the town car's rear window. "Where are we going?" he asked one of the goons.
"There's a secure location prepared–" the goon began, but was cut short, as another fast-moving vehicle T-boned into the town car, throwing Nathan sideways. The two bodyguards followed him as the car careened wildly.
They hadn't driven a hundred yards away from the Opera House.
Instantly, Nathan was being manhandled. The bodyguards seemed unfazed by the force of the collision. They were up and bustling Nathan out of the car. Exposed in the street, they drew handguns out from under their dark suits. Two almost identical men emerged from the other vehicle, also brandishing weapons. 
The two pairs of dark-suited goons exchanged a number of single-word commands, communicating in some sort of abstracted, authoritarian code. The exchange satisfied no one, culminating in a single shot. The goon to Nathan's left dropped like a sack. 
His partner took cover behind Nathan's body, answering his attackers with three quick cracks from his pistol. But Nathan wanted no part in playing the role of a human shield. Nathan squirmed from the goon's tight grip, and when the struggle let a foot of air between them, the attacking pair of goons opened fire.
Nathan watched the heavyset man fall to the ground. He went down face first, in a way that told Nathan he was dead before he hit the ground. Before Nathan could react, he was again flanked by two dark-suited bodyguards, almost identical to those that lay dead in the street. Nathan was hustled into a second town car that sat idling in traffic. When the door swung closed, the car sped off. The whole attack, from collision to escape, could have taken no more than ten seconds.
Jude was waiting for Nathan in the back of the new town car.
She was smoking, watching Nathan from behind her bulbous, dark sunglasses. She didn't speak as the car maneuvered in and out of traffic. She simply watched Nathan as he craned his neck back to watch the corpses of his old bodyguards recede.
"What the fuck was that?" Nathan finally spoke, turning to face Jude.
"Nathan, I was so afraid," she began.
"They're dead! Those were Peters' guys. You killed them... Aren't we all on the same side?"
"We can't trust anyone anymore, Nathan."
"Trust?" The car lurched, turning sharply onto an arterial road. "What the hell is going on?"
"They made their play, now we've made ours," Jude said cryptically.
"Play? You're killing people over me now?"
"It's not like that, Nathan."
"Then what? What is it like?"
"It's been in the cards for a long time."
"What has?" Nathan asked. Jude simply turned to watch the city pass by outside the car window. "Fuck! You people are insane!"

#

Elder Tull leveled his pistol and fired a single shot.
The sound of the gun was earsplitting in the confined space of the control room. The black block of electronics fizzled from its wound as the window of the control booth behind it cracked like a spider's web from the bullet's impact. 
The thundering music out in the auditorium died, replaced by the screams of chaos below.
Elder backed up slowly, keeping the gun leveled at his three captives. "First person through the door gets the same as that," Elder said, pointing with the muzzle of his pistol at the destroyed device. 
They were all most likely still temporarily deaf from the sound of the gunshot, Elder guessed, but he figured his gesture relayed enough of his message. 
Finding the doorknob behind him, Elder let himself out of the control room. He tucked his pistol away in his shoulder holster and trotted off down the corridor. 
The lobby of the Opera House was complete pandemonium. Stems were scratching and biting their way for the exits as puffs of colored smoke escaped through the auditorium doors. 
Elder allowed himself a quick chuckle.
Eydie sure had style, Elder had to admit. The effect of her attack had been so much more powerful than a real bomb, the terror so much more palpable, and at the cost of no one's life. 
At that moment, watching the result of the attack, Elder was tempted to throw away the plan to flee to Bannock. If this is what Eydie could do with one assault... perhaps they could really strike back against the Stems, set things straight. 
But the moment was fleeting as Elder merged into the crowd, pushing his way towards the exit. He remembered that Eydie had special motivations for this attack. Perhaps she'd terrorized a whole auditorium of upper crust Stems, but her target had really been just one man. The message she'd sent had an audience of one: Steve. Maybe she'd made her peace with him now – maybe now she wouldn't feel so bad leaving him behind.
After all, Steve had died that night at the pizza kitchen, his body had just not yet lied down. 
Eventually, Elder stumbled out of the building, gasping into the night air. The churn of the scrambling crowd buffeted and bashed him. Out in the open, the panic seemed to subside as groups of well-dressed eventgoers loitered before the Opera House. Fire engines lined the street with their lights flashing. Police cars were parked on the curb. As Elder found a place on a low wall to rest, a well-armed SWAT team charged by, pushing their way through the escaping crowd, back into the auditorium. 
Everyone had to be out, Elder hoped, he had to be the last. It had been his job to bring up the rear and destroy all the incriminating evidence. Elder returned to his feet and scanned the crowd, looking for the others. He hopped up to stand on the low wall for a better perspective, eventually spying Eydie, Sweet and Kevin at the rear of the milling crowd, standing discreetly separated from the main cluster of people, off towards the fountain.
"Here he comes," Beat said, almost under her breath as Elder pushed his way through the throng towards the others. Beat took a last draw on her cigarette and dropped it onto the grass, snuffing it out with her high heel.
Kevin shook Elder's hand as he joined the circle. 
"Okay?" Elder nodded to the others.
"Yeah. You?" Eydie asked, speaking in a low tone.
"Yeah, we're good. Shot a hole in Prime's dongle. We're good."
"Good."
They stood in silence as another SWAT team charged by, heading away from the Opera House, moving to intercept some unseen threat. 
"How long do we have to stand here?" Beat asked, speaking between her teeth.
"When the Stems start dispersing, we can make a move with them," Eydie said, holding an unlit cigarette in her hand. She made a good show of pretending to smoke it. "We'll make a break for Prime and the Wagoneer. Best to stay in the crowd until then, though. We're almost invisible in the crowd."
"What if they start checking identifications? Taking statements?" Kevin asked.
"Of everyone? No, they'll be too busy with the people who actually want to volunteer information."
"Shit, that was insane!" Elder said a little too loud. Everyone shushed him.
Then, Eydie cracked up a little, and Beat and Kevin couldn't help but snicker along. 
"Fuck, they all pissed themselves," Kevin chortled. "I mean, if they could still piss."
"Man, you see Doctor Stem? When the video started rolling? It was like someone took a shot at him." Beat lit a second cigarette.
"What'd it look like from the control room?" Eydie asked.
"Sweet. Fucking sweet," Elder answered. "Nice editing, by the way."
Kevin and Eydie both said thanks. 
"Yeah, you guys missed your calling," Beat said sardonically. "Why the fuck are you wasting your time in terrorism?"
They all smiled, falling back into silence. They tried to watch the movements of the authorities without looking like they were watching their movements.
 They waited.
"Fuck, I'm getting hungry." Elder said, kicking at the grass under his shoes.
Eydie shushed him.
It was beginning to get cold as they stood in the night air. Kevin removed his jacket and put it around Beat's shoulders. Elder moved to do the same for Eydie, but remembered the shoulder holster his jacket was hiding. Instead, he gave her a weak grin.
"Thanks anyway," Eydie offered.
They waited some more.
The crowd didn't seem to be dispersing. Every few minutes a group of policemen would run by, frantically talking into radios. But no one bothered to look in their direction. As Eydie had guessed, they were invisible in the crowd. 
Elder Tull's mind began to wander. He tried to think of a better one-liner he could have used in the control room. He was trying variations on 'Boom'...
"Is that a bomb?" the stage manager had said.
"No, it's a Boom box," Elder replied in his head.
No, that wasn't quite right...
"This? The Box? That goes Boom?" No, that was worse. And the moment had passed, anyway. He'd said what he'd said and he'd just have to live with it.
Elder was coming to terms with this realization when he made his mistake.
Perhaps if he'd not been daydreaming, Elder could have choked back the burp before it erupted. But his mind was elsewhere and he let loose with a soft belch before he fully realized what he was doing.
It wasn't much of a burp, nothing that could have possibly have been heard farther away than Elder's immediate company. But burp Elder did, and the sound instantly snapped Eydie, Beat and Kevin rigidly to attention. They fixed Elder with wide-eyed, horrified stares. 
"Excuse me," Elder said automatically. He tried to swallow the words as he said them, but they had already left his mouth. Eydie frowned at him. 
"Shut up, ass wipe," Beat said through her clenched teeth. 
Elder didn't move – he was afraid to move, lest he upset any more gas.
"Just try to look... casual..." Eydie said, her words trailing off. She'd spied something behind Elder, something alarming.
Elder was afraid to turn around.
Sweet Beat and Kevin had seen it, too. They were stepping back, putting space between themselves and Elder. Elder stood frozen to the spot, somehow hoping ignorance might keep him safe from whatever lay behind him.
Inevitably, Elder had to turn.
He turned to face a wall of enraged, murderous humanity.





Chapter 23

For a moment, Elder was standing outside his body watching himself. Every face in the crowd, milling in front of the Opera House, had turned towards him. 
Every face. Every single one. All four thousand.
His small noise, as innocuous as it had seemed a moment before, had somehow grabbed the attention of every Stem within a thousand yards. Elder could only watch himself in disbelief, shaking his head in silent disgust. "You are one fucked dude," he told himself before snapping back to a single personality.
They all surged forward at once.
Suddenly, hands were attempting to rip Elder Tull limb from limb. The crowd closed in on him like a fist, crushing him under the weight of bodies. Well-manicured fingers were tearing at his throat, at his mouth, at his eyes. Elder toppled over onto the grass as body after body piled on top of him. They attacked with no concern for their own safety, equally crushing themselves as they crushed Elder. A mass of thin, toned bodies was smothering the life out of Elder.
The first salvo of bullets cut into the mob, forcing the Stems on top of Elder to reel in pain. It bought Elder precious seconds to scramble from under the crushing bodies. Eydie, Beat and Kevin fired again, cutting into the wall of bodies with shot after shot. Elder scurried between their legs, finding his feet and drawing his own gun. The mob rushed forward, oblivious to the toll the guns were taking. 
The mob charged, treading on its own dead – an insane, bloodthirsty mass of humanity. 
The instant before they could be overwhelmed, the firing line of pistols turned tail and ran, sprinting across the clear, open grass of the Seattle Center, towards the fountain at its center. Behind them, the enraged crowd of Stems screamed like animals and gave chase. 
Elder paused a moment longer than the others before fleeing, firing off a few random shots, dropping a pair of well-dressed pursuers. The crowd didn't flinch, surging on, flailing in a blood frenzy as it tried to grab Elder. Eventually, Elder was forced to turn and run as well, sprinting to catch up with Eydie, Beat and Kevin.
"What the fuck is happening?" Elder screamed out. No one answered, they were too busy running for their lives. At the edge of the fountain, they all leapt into the basin, sprinting down into its depths. At its base, Elder stole a glance back, up at the mob that was pursuing. The rabble had paused at the edge of the fountain. "They're not following." Elder slacked his speed The words made the others turn and look up at the line of dark silhouettes.
"What are they doing?" Kevin asked.
"Who gives a fuck! Let's get out of here!" Beat said, starting up the far side of the fountain.
Kevin and Eydie fell in behind her. It was only Elder Tull that really saw it happen: two Stems, waiting at the rim, leapt into the air and sailed the hundred yards through the cold night to land on the far edge of the fountain. Elder gasped in surprise. There was little else that he could do. Two more silhouettes sprang into the air and dropped effortlessly down in front of the fleeing Pukes. 
Beat recoiled in surprise as she cleared the edge of the fountain. She hadn't expected anyone there waiting. There was a tussle, and a series of shots. Elder sprinted up the side of the fountain after taking potshots at the sky as another Stem came leaping through the air.
"Fuck me!" Kevin screamed as a Stem came down almost completely on top of him. They crashed to the ground, wrestling. The Stem was a small woman, no more than a hundred pounds, but she quickly had Kevin pinned. Kevin struggled, but the woman had him dead-to-rights. She picked him up and lifted him clear over her head. She might have thrown him back down into the basin of the fountain had Elder not shot her through the chest. She buckled, dropping Kevin, who quickly returned to his feet, running.
"Prime, Prime! Where are you?!" Eydie was speaking into her ear bud. The crowd had dispersed some, and now they were coming at the Pukes in ones and twos. Kevin and Beat were cutting them down as each charged in turn. 
"At the rendezvous, why?" Prime voice came lazily back over the phone line.
"Get around to the front of the Arena!" Eydie screamed.
"What? Why?" 
"Just fucking do it!" A Stem dropped out of the sky in front of Eydie. She clocked it in the forehead with a shot before it could pull itself to its feet. 
"What the fuck is going on!" Elder said again. Eydie was leading, the other following, scanning the shadows for targets. Eydie paused, suddenly unsure of which direction to move. She started in one direction, stopped, then started in another. 
Behind them, the crowd was reforming.
A new wall of Stems was sprinting over the open space between the fountain and the Arena. Eydie spied it and panicked, running down the steps towards the stadium.
"No, no!" Beat yelled after her. "They'll pin us in down there! This way!" Beat started up another flight of stairs.
Elder was watching the mob approach. One Stem, a man in light gray suit, was outpacing the rest. He was pulling away from the wall of bodies, zeroing in on Elder. Elder saw his face clearly in the moonlight and the look of hatred and murder upon it. He would rip Elder apart with his bare hands if he caught him, Elder had no doubt. Elder raised his pistol and aimed, firing off a shot at the runner's center of mass.
The explosion sent Elder tumbling back and down the stairs of the Arena. The runner in the gray suit had just... exploded. The force of the blast picked up a large chunk of the pursuing mob and tossed it several yards in every direction. The runner had just... exploded. Elder pulled himself back to his feet and sprinted after the others, up the flight of stairs. He'd shot the runner with a normal bullet, and the runner had... blown up.
"Elder, come on!" Eydie's voice called out. The others were already halfway around the Arena. Elder caught up as they circled fully around the stadium. "What happened back there? What was that noise?" she asked after she'd looked up and down the road for any sign of Prime's Wagoneer.
"I-I-" Elder tried to find words. "Boom," he finally said.
"What? Boom?" Eydie said back.
"Yeah. Boom," Elder shrugged.
Prime's Wagoneer approached at great speed, turning a corner from the north, its rear fishtailing as Prime wrestled with the wheel to keep the truck on the road. He came skidding to a halt at the curb in front of the Arena where Eydie, Kevin, Elder and Beat were waiting.
"What-what? What the fuck?" Prime said as everyone piled into the car. The mob of Stems had regained its momentum after the explosion and had also circled around the stadium. It was sprinting towards the parked Wagoneer. 
"Just drive!" Eydie screamed, crumpled up in the backseat on top of Beat and underneath Kevin. Prime floored the accelerator, peeling out from the curb. Something heavy hit the hood of the truck. Prime gasped in surprise to see a well-groomed young man hanging there. He had dropped out of the sky. 
Elder, who'd taken the passenger seat beside Prime, raised his pistol and fired through the windshield. The Stem fell away, crashing to the blacktop. 
"Fuck!" Prime exclaimed, swerving to avoid another body that leapt out in front of his speeding vehicle. He was too late and the truck ran the body over with its left tires. Prime took a hard right and accelerated directly away from the Center. A small group of figures ware blocking the street. Prime honked, but they stood fast. Prime had no choice but to plow right through the center of them. 
Moments later, the Wagoneer was in traffic, merging onto a major thoroughfare. Prime dialed back the speed, joining the other cars heading east towards the freeway. 
"What the–" Prime began, then trailed off. Everyone was panting from exertion and fright. Elder in the front passenger seat, Kevin and Beat in the back. Eydie was straddling the drive shaft in the middle of the backseat, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. 
"Fuck, that was–" Kevin couldn't finish his sentence.
"That was... that was bat shit!" Beat wiped her eyes before ejecting the magazine from her empty pistol and releasing the slide.
"I don't understand." Strangely, Elder seemed almost calm. "What's going on?" He looked back at the mystified faces in the backseat. 
The traffic came to stop at a light. Prime reflexively brought the truck to a halt. As he waited for the light to turn green, he slowly became aware of a group of people, many blocks up the cross street, chasing after a single figure. For a few yards, the lone figure seemed to be outpacing its pursuers, but it slipped and the small mob descended upon him. The assault was distant, down a darkened street, but even from afar it looked disgustingly brutal. 
"Fuck this," Prime said, pulling out into oncoming traffic. He revved the engine and blew through the stoplight.





Chapter 24

Jude sat across from Nathan, still wearing the sunglasses even though they were back in the condo and night had fallen hours ago. Arnold sat between them, looking sweaty and haggard. A grainy security camera still sat on the dining table in front of Nathan, but Nathan paid it no attention. It had taken him half a second to identify the man in the shot: a better groomed but still identifiable Elder Tull. Arnold wanted information and Nathan had every intention of giving it to him. This was the third attack Elder Tull had made on Nathan, and he wasn't about to let there be a fourth. 
But first, someone was going to explain to Nathan what the fuck was going on.
Arnold looked war weary, like he'd had to fight his way across town to get to the condo. There was blood on his shirt and a gash on his left cheek. 
Whatever was going on in the city beyond Nathan's condominium building, it looked bad. The television explained very little. The news coverage was increasingly erratic. There was rioting in the streets, and some peripheral coverage talked about the attack at the Opera House. But more and more, the news anchors were using their platforms to deliver anti-Puke diatribes. Apparently, the chaos was all the result of an intricate, Puke-backed plot. They were hazy on the exact details.
"Just a simple yes or no, Mr. Pope," Arnold said, pointing a sweaty finger at the security still. "This is the second time I've come to you and asked this question: do you recognize this man?"
"Yes," Nathan replied, not taking his eyes off Jude. Everything and everyone had gone crazy – everything and everyone accept Jude. She was just sitting there calmly, smoking her cigarettes. What was her angle? Nathan needed to understand before he made his next move. Arnold, Peters, city security, The Big U... Nathan could understand all those, but Jude... she was a wild card. What was she planning?
"Well?" Arnold raised an eyebrow. He couldn't hide the exhaustion in his voice.
"What the hell happened at the Opera House?"
Arnold exhaled. 
"Don't worry about–" Jude began.
"Fuck it!" Nathan screamed, slamming his fist down on the table. Jude jumped. "You want the motherfuckers who did this, you tell me exactly what the fuck they did!"
Jude returned her attention to her cigarette, sucking in, then blowing out a plume of gray smoke.
Arnold spoke up. "It's..." he stammered, searching for the words. "It's fucking pandemonium out there. Rioting, killing..."
"Killing? Pukes?"
"No– well, yes, but not just Pukes... It's like everyone has taken the opportunity to settle all their old scores, silence every grudge they've been holding for years. It's fucking insane, I don't know what the fuck is going on. I had to shoot three people to get over here. They tried to pull me out of my car..."
"All of this chaos because of what this Puke did?" Nathan tapped the photograph.
"No– I don't know..." Arnold shook a weary head. "Maybe they released some sort of virus– I don't know... the sooner we have them in custody, the sooner we can figure out what the fuck is going on. So? How about the picture, Nathan? Huh?"
Nathan contemplated his options.
"Fuck!" Arnold boiled over. "If you know anything about this and I find out you've been withholding information from the authorities..." Arnold seethed through clenched teeth. "Neither this bitch," he pointed to Jude, "nor the Big U can stop me from executing your Puke-sympathizing ass!"
"Yes, that's Elder Tull," Nathan said calmly. "And I can tell you where to find him, I know where he'll be hiding out. There's only one place in this city that he could be."
"Fine!" Arnold almost collapsed forward across the table, a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Nathan told Arnold the location of Prime's Candy Kitchen.
Arnold didn't bother to write it down. He pulled his weight out of his chair, retrieved his security still, and left the condominium without uttering another word. He left Nathan and Jude staring at each other in silence, the full length of the anachronistic dining table between them.
Nathan was the first to speak. "What's going on?" 
"You heard Arnold. Perhaps some sort of virus..." Jude replied, distant.
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
"What are you doing?"
"I already explained," Jude said, annoyed. "The Big U doesn't have your best interests at heart, baby."
"Don't!" Nathan choked back his rage. "Don't pretend that you're still looking out for me."
"Oh Nathan, you know everything we've done has been to protect you!" Jude sounded genuinely hurt.
"Protect me? Protect me from who? You?"
"Nathan!"
"Who's side are you on, Jude?" Nathan asked, rising from his chair.
"There's only one side! Yours! It's a dangerous world, baby. There are so many people who'd try and take advantage of you."
"Like you? Like Peters? Like Arnold? Like Waverly? Try and tell me that all of you haven't been trying to cash in on me. What gives any of you the right to make a penny off of me?"
"It's not like that, Nathan, it's never been like that..."
"It's always been like that! Right from the beginning! You thought you could fuck me, and I'd be your obedient puppy! But you didn't predict any of this, did you?" 
Jude fell silent, her eyes still hidden behind the dark glasses. The sound of sirens could be heard far below in the streets outside.
"Nathan. We can't fight, not now. We've got to stay strong, we've got to stay together. If we break apart..." Jude's voice faltered. "If we show any air between us, they'll drive a wedge into it. They'll split us right down the middle. And then they'll eat us alive."
"They? They?" Nathan asked, almost doubling over in physical pain. "Who are they?"
Jude paused, looking towards the windows from behind her dark glasses.
"Them," she said with deadly, absolute certitude. 





Chapter 25

The whole world was going fucking insane.
The Wagoneer worked its way home down back street after back street, keeping off the major thoroughfares. Every way they turned, they found roving bands of crazed Stems, either locked in pitched battle or senselessly destroying property. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of it, no clear lines to demarcate one set of belligerents from another. 
They mostly ignored the slow moving Wagoneer, though any Stem who came within twenty yards caught a bullet from Prime's .44. 
Back at the Candy Kitchen and secured in the relative safety of the basement, Prime turned to his computers for answers. The airwaves were mostly dead. What few radio and television stations were still broadcasting had become mouthpieces for anti-Puke ravings. Prime tapped into traffic control cameras and flipped through the feeds from every corner of the city. No neighborhood was free of the rioting. The town was beginning to burn.
Even Prime breathed a sigh of relief when a traffic camera relayed the image of the first tank rolling into town. The comfort was short lived, however, as whatever madness or sickness or virus infecting the Seattle population quickly spread to the occupying soldiers. Soon the army was fighting amongst itself and attacking civilians, apparently at random. 
The shit was turning from bad to worse.
"Did we somehow cause this?" Eydie asked as she watched the camera feeds over Prime's shoulders. After changing their clothes and reloading their weapons, everyone had gathered at Prime's workstation, searching for answers.
"That's stupid," Kevin dismissed. "How could a video cause this?"
"But it can't be coincidental..."
"They can fucking fly!" Sweet Beat snorted. "Those Stems back at the fountain were fucking flying! We didn't cause anything."
"Are they sick?" Prime was tabbing through a cluster of open windows on his desktop, displaying various angles of the destruction. "Some sort of contagion?"
"Sick people can't fucking fly," Beat repeated.
"Or hear the passing of gas over a hundred yards away," Elder added. "They all heard me burp, remember? All of them. They reacted as a unit, like they were somehow... connected..."
"They did attack..." Eydie chose her words deliberately. "As a pack."
"This is fucking crazy," Beat ran her fingers through her hair in dismay. "This whole thing is fucking crazy. And look: it's spreading! Now, the fucking army is killing each other! We've got to get out of town."
"I think that ship has sailed," Kevin said, watching the monitors. Prime flipped the cameras to the freeway panoramas. "The army is adapting. They're setting up roadblocks." At great distances away from the city, the outlines of armored vehicles could just be seen. 
"Then we're trapped here? With the crazies?"
"If it's a virus, it will eventually affect us," Prime mused.
"No, it's no virus," Elder replied, remembering the explosion back by the Arena. "It's the stem. Something has gone wrong with their stems."
"What?" Eydie turned to look at Elder. "What makes you say that?"
"Back at the fountain, I shot one... right in the center of mass. Right in the plug and he... exploded."
"Yeah, you said: Boom."
"Yeah."
"That's impossible," Prime dismissed. "The amount of stored energy required to create a blast of any magnitude..." And Prime's words trailed off as their full weight hit him. "Shit," he concluded.
"Yeah, shit." Elder agreed.
"What are you eggheads talking about?" Beat asked, shuttling her eyes between Prime and Elder, attempting to read something in their expressions.
"I-I-" Elder hedged, shaking his head.
"If," Prime began. "And I mean if the WLI had the capacity to store up energy..."
"Yeah?" Beat pressed.
"And you fractured the device. Well, the energy would be released catastrophically."
"Why the fuck would the stem hold so much energy? And what the fuck does that have to do with them all going crazy?"
"That's just it, the stem isn't designed to store energy at all, only convert electrical energy into nutrients. But if the stem is malfunctioning, who knows how many other ways it might be fucking up?"
"And if even a small amount of that energy," Kevin added, "was released in a controlled bust, down the central nervous system, to the limbs..."
"You'd fry every neuron in your body," Eydie continued.
"Yes, but you could easily leap thirty feet into the air. Or pick a full-sized man up, clear over your head."
Suddenly, the implications of everything they had witnessed outside the Opera House hit home.
"Fuck!" Beat was the first to put it into words. "Super-powered crazies! We are so fucking dead!"
"Super-powered crazy zombies," Eydie corrected. "There's no way the human nervous system could withstand that strain. It'd kill you, even a Stem."
"But nobody out there seems to be falling down dead," Prime observed, still tabbing through the camera feeds.
"Shit, we've got to get out of town," Kevin stated with horror.

#

Prime picked up the broadcast on an emergency channel. It was a looped voice recording, repeating itself at two minute intervals. He only found it by accident, attempting to tune in to the police radio band. The voice was unmistakable, as famous as that of any Hollywood actor: Drew Arrow. The perpetual pitchman of his own commercials, always selling the latest, greatest software product from his multinational company, Arrowsoft. Drew Arrow. The richest, most famous man never to be converted. He voice came out of the radio, low and somber, delivering a simple message to anyone listening. Prime gathered together everyone, pulling them away from their hurried packing, to come listen to the message at his workstation.
"To anyone in the city... to anyone left in Seattle... to any Pukes left alive in the city of Seattle. This is Drew Arrow. If you can hear my voice and understand me, it means you must be one of the few unconverted left. The sickness, it has only stricken the Stems. If you can hear me, you've survived this long. Well done. But the toughest road is still ahead. It is time for us all to leave.
"The contagion is spreading. My people are calling it a Cascade Psycho-Social Terminal Event – geek speak. What it means to you and me is that we're immune. It's only the Stems that are infected. That's the good news. The bad news is that the sickness is spreading. Beyond Seattle, beyond the Northwest. It's spreading like wildfire. Soon, there'll be no safe harbor. All the Stems are affected – all of them. It's time for us all to leave. Drop off the face of the earth, as it were.
"I know you've all heard rumors of Bannock. Let me tell you now that it is a very real place, not a work of fantasy. Individuals with ideas similar to ours constructed it over many years. A safe haven for Pukes to flee to when the Stem world became too oppressive. Well, I imagine they never considered events like the ones we're experiencing, but the nature of the threat is beside the point. The fact remains that Bannock is ready and waiting – ready and waiting for us all. All we need to do is get there.
"And here the road gets rockier. Escaping the city with conditions such as they are will not be an easy task. But take some comfort in the knowledge that you are not entirely alone. If you can escape the city, if you can cross the floating bridge, my estate on Mercer Island is well armed and well stocked. I am ready and eager to extend sanctuary to any Puke who can reach the safety of my home. From there, we'll have resources to flee the city entirely.
"I wish I could simply relay the location of the town of Bannock to you all, but I fear that you are not the only ones listening to this communication. The Stems, those not yet affected by the phage, may still discover a way to contain it. Do not doubt for a second that if these monsters learned the secret of the location of Bannock that they would make every effort to swoop in and destroy it. Always remember that even before the sickness, there was no Stem that could suffer a Puke to live. This, the contagion, has not changed that. 
"So, I reiterate: make every effort and all speed towards my estate on Mercer Island. If you can make it there, then we can make it all the way to Bannock. 
"May God smile down and protect you all."

#

It was the first glimmer of hope in a dark world. With everything collapsing around them, suddenly the Pukes had purpose. All they had to do was make it to Mercer Island – no more than two or three miles away – and they'd be safe. That they'd have to travel through two or three miles of city streets packed with blood-crazed lunatics hardly entered into their thinking. There was hope.
But no time.
Just as Drew Arrow's message started another loop, Prime's proximity alarms sounded. Someone or something was attempting to enter the Candy Kitchen through the front door. It could only mean one thing: the Stems had arrived on Prime's doorstep. Whether it was the crazies or the actual authorities, the alarms didn't indicate. It was hard to say which was more preferable.
A claymore mine Prime had rigged in the front hall detonated above, shaking free a cloud of dust from the rafters of the basement. The Pukes were already moving into action: Sweet Beat had the stairs to the kitchen covered while Kevin, Eydie and Elder gathered whatever bags were easily at hand. 
Prime vanished into the rear closet, coming out with some massive package wrapped in yellow plastic. It seemed heavy, but Prime hefted it by sheer force of will all the way across the basement, to the sliding doors that faced out on the darkened ravine. There, he dropped the heavy package to the ground, grunting in pain. 
He slid the doors open slightly, then lifted one off its rails and let it fall away into the darkness. He did the same with the second door until there was only air between Prime and the ravine. He turned to the yellow package, attaching two hooks that emerged from each end of the bundle to loops on the door frame and loosening the twine that held the whole thing together. 
The package collapsed as the last length of twine came free.
 It turned out not to be a package wrapped in yellow plastic at all, but a whole package of yellow plastic bundled together. Prime pushed the mass of the roll out through the open doors, letting it unravel itself off into the night. At the core of the bundle was a bottle of compressed gas. Prime pulled the bottle's zip cord, and the yellow plastic inflated. 
Like much of the equipment Prime acquired, he was vague on the details of exactly how he'd come to possess an unused aircraft emergency slide. His plan to use it as an emergency exit from the Candy Kitchen, should the house ever be attacked, was hampered by the fact that the slide was only long enough to reach a third of the way down the wall of the ravine. There'd been no opportunity to test the escape route, the slide being a one-use item. 
At the base of the stairs up to the kitchen, Sweet Beat began to fire her gun.
"Move! Move!" she yelled as a hail of bullets tore through the woodwork of the stairwell in response. She dove to the floor, firing up into the ceiling of the basement. The other Pukes looked at each other in confusion. Who would be the first to test out the slide?
"Oh, fuck!" Kevin yelled, a backpack slung over each shoulder. He took two steps forward and leapt into the dark, vanishing instantly from view. Prime followed suit, picking up a shotgun leaning against his workstation and leaping out into the night. 
"Go!" Elder yelled to Eydie. Elder bent over to help Beat to her feet. Her pistol was empty, and Elder exchanged his for hers. Eydie dove into the darkness, jumping headfirst down the slide. Beat continued shooting into the roof as Elder stepped to the precipice. She was dancing from foot to foot as she cussed up at the ceiling.
"Motherfucking son-of-a-bitches!"
"Let's go!" Elder yelled back. Beat fired her last shot and the slide of her pistol locked open. She removed the magazine from its well just as Elder caught sight of two metal orbs bouncing like tennis balls down the basement stairs. "Now!" Elder screamed, grabbing Beat by the arm and pulling them both out and onto the slide. The flash bang grenades exploded above them as they fell into the black.

#

Something soft broke Elder Tull's fall. After the slide, there had been the whipping of sharp branches across his face, the collision with something very solid and unmovable, and then Elder had come to rest on something soft. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Elder came to realize that the cushion was actually the Prime Administrator. The Prime Administrator groaned. Elder joined him.
Sweet Beat came tumbling down on top of Elder. As they pulled themselves up out of the mud, Kevin and Eydie emerged from the underbrush. Kevin had a nasty gash across his face and Eydie was holding her left arm in pain. 
They could still hear gunfire above them. There was another dull explosion from the Candy Kitchen as another of Prime's booby traps claimed a victim. Prime pulled himself to his feet and led the way, limping along the gully of the ravine, retracing the path back towards the Wagoneer's garage by memory. He found where the invisible path cut up the north wall of the ravine and began to climb, the other Pukes, beaten and battered from their escape, in tow.
At the summit of the climb, Prime ascended the short flight of stairs that brought him to the rear door of the Wagoneer's garage. Only then did he risk pulling a small penlight out of his pocket and clicking it on. He shined the small light on the door knob and hurried into the shadows of the garage.
"Those were cops," Beat spoke as she climbed into the front seat of the Wagoneer. Prime pulled himself in behind the wheel and passed Beat the shotgun. "The cops haven't gone crazy. Yet."
"It doesn't matter," Prime said, firing the bio-diesel engine to life. "If shit's as bad out there as it looks, they'll never catch us. We just got to make it to the I-90..."
"How the fuck are we going do that?" Beat asked. Kevin, Eydie and Elder were loaded into the back seat, Elder squeezed in the middle.
"I'll drive," Prime replied, shifting the truck into reverse. "You shoot."
He stepped on the gas, not bothering to open the garage door. The Wagoneer crashed through it and into the night, showering the street with splinters. Once clear of the garage, Prime worked the gear shift, smoking the rear tires as he pulled away.





Chapter 26

What was Jude up to?
Nathan undressed for bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and looked at himself in the mirror. He marveled at his transformation. He'd packed on at least twenty pounds of muscle, and for the first time since his teenage years, he had six-pack abs. Despite all the craziness outside, Nathan could understand the appeal of the stem: a perfect physique with no effort. 
Nathan shot a glance toward the bathroom where Jude was supposedly in the shower. He could hear water running, but that could easily be a ruse. Outside the penthouse condominium, in the halls and the stairwells and posted at the elevators, dozens of Arnold's city security were posted. No threat on earth was about to get into the building that evening. But what about the threats Nathan had already let in? 
What was Jude playing at?
Why was she still here? Why had she had Arnold's men attack Peters' men? What was her angle? This couldn't possibly be about that stupid book anymore, not now that society was collapsing outside their window. No, there was more to Jude's presence that just Nathan's PR ranking. What did she want?
Nathan felt suddenly very alone.
Dressed only in his underwear, he crept quietly to the master bathroom door. The door was ajar, but Nathan could only see the mirror steamed up from the hot shower. He moved backward on tiptoes, out of the bedroom and down the short hall. He sneaked across the cold tile floor of the pristine, never used kitchen. At the counter, he found the block of kitchen knives. He reached out for the carving knife...
And found it missing.
A shot of terror hit Nathan. He drew the next largest knife from the block and gripped it tightly. He moved as silently as he could manage, careful with each step, back to where the kitchen opened out into the hall.
"Jude?" he called softly. No answer. "Jude?" he called louder. There was no reply, just the constant pitter-patter of the running shower. Nathan crept slowly down the hall in his bare feet, keeping the knife ready at his side. 
"Jude?" he called one last time as he stepped into the bedroom. He turned the knife around in his hand, raising it up and back, Psycho-style. With his free hand, he pushed the bathroom door in. The steam was thick, clinging to the ceiling.
Jude stood naked in the center of the bathroom, her back to the door. Her body was bone dry, the shower water running down the drain, unused.
"Jude?" Nathan asked. The sight of her tiny, naked frame stalled his attack. He'd expected her to be lying in wait – to fly out of the shower with the missing carving knife in her hand – but she was just standing motionless in the bathroom, looking at her steam-obscured reflection in the mirror. "Jude, what's wrong?" Nathan lowered his knife.
"It's the stem, Nathan. It's the stem that's killed us all. What have we done?"
"Jude, I–" Nathan began. Jude turned to face him. She was still wearing her dark sunglasses – nothing except her dark glasses.
"Steve?" she said, and held out a hand. It was covered in blood. Nathan looked in horror at the deep gash cut across Jude's small, firm stomach. The large carving knife was in her other hand. She'd sliced herself open from side to side, bisecting her implant. Blood gushed from the wound. "We've got to get it out before it kills us all," she said, and let the carving knife fall to the bathroom tile. She reached into her sternum and grabbed her stem firmly, her fingers pushing aside the gore of her wound.
"No!" Nathan screamed, lunging forward. But Jude had finished the task before Nathan could reach her. She yanked hard, ripping her stem free from her chest. The metal slug came loose, followed by a torrent of blood.
Jude collapsed at Nathan's feet.
Nathan caught her on the way down, dropping his own knife. 
"Jude, what have you done?" Nathan cried. He held her paper-light body in his arms. He put a hand on her chest, attempting to stop the flow of blood. The wound swallowed his hand. 
"Steve?" Jude said weakly.
"Jude!" 
"Steve, I was–" her voice faded. She stared up at the ceiling, her pupils fixed.
Nathan laid her down gently on the cold bathroom tile.
He was covered in her blood. 
A shot rang out in the condominium. The earsplitting sound shocked Nathan back to life. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled out of the bathroom door. More shots, a whole chain of them. There was screaming and a loud thump. Light flooded into the hall beyond the bedroom. They were inside the condo.
Nathan turned to run, but there was nowhere to go. Jude lay dead in the bathroom, and only closets filled the far wall. Nathan ran to the window and opened the balcony door. Behind him, there were more gunshots, and then a dark-suited figure stumbled into the room. There was a cluster of more shots and the figure staggered, falling to the floor. 
Nathan stepped outside onto the balcony, shutting the glass door behind him.
He was instantly cold, dressed only in his underwear and wet with Jude's blood. He looked down at the twenty story drop off the balcony. There was no way he could climb down. He looked across the street at the condo building that faced his. There was a similar balcony attached to a similar penthouse unit there. But the empty space between the two balconies was at least twenty yards wide. 
A shot rang out and a window behind Nathan shattered.
Something told Nathan to climb over the balcony railing. He carefully slid over the railing and stood facing out at nothingness. He looked down again. Lights of police cars and emergency vehicles illuminated below him. 
Another shot tore through the meat of Nathan's right shoulder. He looked back through the broken window as the cowled SWAT team moved into the bedroom, rifles raised. One was coming toward the balcony door, while another kept Nathan covered. Nathan turned away, again fixing his eyes on the balcony of the adjacent building. Without thinking, Nathan let go of the railing behind him and pushed off with his feet. He didn't fall, but flew. Shots cut through the air around him.
He hit the far balcony awkwardly, scrambling to grab hold of its railing. He almost lost his grip on the slick metal with his blood-soaked hands, but eventually got his weight over the railing and collapsed in a heap on the concrete slab. More gunfire came from balcony he'd just left, shattering the glass above him. Nathan scrambled through a broken pane and crawled frantically across the foreign bedroom floor. 
Nathan paused before exiting the room, marveling at his feat. Only then, removed from the immediate danger, did the enormity of it all sink in. He had flown. Another burst of rifle fire cracked through the plate windows.
Nathan quickly found the front door to the apartment. He ran through the hall, grasping his wounded shoulder, and arrived at the bank of elevators. His kicked the down arrow with a toe, and instantly an elevator opened behind him.
Nathan turned to find the elevator already occupied by three passengers: Peters stood in the center of the car, head bowed, checking his phone, flanked on either side by a gas-masked special ops goon. 
Nathan stood frozen to the spot as rifles snapped to the goon's shoulders.
Peters raised his head and smiled.





Chapter 27

The lights flicked off, block by block, as the power grid of the city blinked out.
It was either a malfunction, or some smart whip realized what power source had been fueling the mayhem in the city the whole time. Either way, the dying of the lights was met by pained howls from the rioting Stems. Eventually – theoretically – they'd run out of power. A Stem couldn't survive without the power grid. How long it would take for each and every manic Stem's battery to run down, however, no one could hazard a guess.
The Wagoneer made its slow way through the darkened back streets of town. 
The battle lines between the Stems factions seemed more delineated now: the more screwball, powerful crazies were preying on those Stems that had not yet de-evolved. What factors were affecting the onset of the madness wasn't instantly obvious, but there seemed to be no one fully unaffected by the contagion. Those Stems that weren't actively rioting seemed to be engaged in questionable pursuits – watering their lawns while their houses burned behind them for example, or setting up a table and chairs in the middle of an intersection, complete with napkins and lit candles, and sitting down to a dinner of D cell batteries. No one seemed immune to the phage. At least, no one who'd been converted.
The rioters mostly ignored the Wagoneer and its cargo of Pukes. Those that ventured close to the slow moving truck were quickly dealt with by a blast from Sweet Beat's shotgun. The freeways and major arterials were completely blocked with abandoned and burning cars, so Prime had little choice but to stick to the back roads. It was slow going, working their way over the hump of Capital Hill and along the ridge towards the I-90 bridge. But as the night wore on, and mayhem grew in its pitch, they closed in on the floating bridge.
Elder Tull watched the whole city roll away behind him as he sat perched backwards looking out the rear window of the Wagoneer. 
Seattle had always been his home – he'd lived there his whole life. While the others had come into the city to go to the university, Elder had grown up only blocks from it. The sight of his city in flames... the idea that he might be leaving town, perhaps permanently, caught in his craw. When food had started getting short, when Prime had started his excursions out to the hinterlands in search of anything edible, Elder had resisted accompanying him. The fear of leaving Seattle, the thought that he might never be able to return, had been enough to keep Elder within the city limits. Not even his empty belly had driven him to venture much farther than ten or twenty blocks from the familiar comfort the Ave. It was his home. 
But now he had to leave.
The city receded into the dark behind the Wagoneer. Elder watched it slowly fade. As the wooded avenues of the Mount Baker neighborhood began to envelop the truck, Elder felt like he was already lost in the wilderness. When there was only blackness to look out at through the rear window, Elder turned forward in his seat.
"We'll dump the Wagoneer as close as we can to the floating bridge and take the footpaths out onto the bridge deck," Prime said to everyone and no one. "The checkpoints will be at the other end of the tunnel, I bet... Or maybe the far end of the bridge... I think we'll have a better shot on foot. This road should bring us out right where the tunnel ends..." 
The headlights were illuminating a quiet line of parked cars and dark, luxurious view homes over the lake. There was no rioting, no violence here. You could easily fool yourself into believing that nothing untoward was happening in the city that evening. The streets were almost serene. But no one in the Wagoneer let their guard drop, continuing to scan the shadows as vigilantly as they had been all evening. Prime brought the truck to a halt, pulled hard on the parking break, and killed the headlights.
They unloaded from the Wagoneer, slinging the backpacks full of ammunition and what food was left from the Potluck onto their backs. 
As they checked their weapons and secured their loads, Elder was distracted by a rustling in the darkness. As the others stepped off the quiet residential street, following the thin bike path down towards the bridge, Elder paused to investigate. He drew his handgun, stepped towards a cluster of bushes beside one dark home, and held his breath.
Elder saw a small figure hunched over behind the bush. As he circled it, he kept his pistol level, ready to snap off a shot. The more of the hunched figure he saw, the more he realized it was a child hiding in the shrubbery. Prudence told Elder he should simply shoot whatever he found behind the bush, but he couldn't bring himself to unload on a child, Stem or not. He came around until the stooped child was fully in view.
The child looked up from its business and growled at Elder.
The child was a crazy, her face smeared with blood. She had caught a cat and was chewing on its middle, tearing back the fur and feasting on the raw meat.
The Stem was eating. 
That fact alone was enough to make Elder stumble back in shock. That was when Elder looked around and realized he'd been abandoned. He turned and sprinted after the others along the bicycle path, breaking out of the trees above the expanse of the I-90.
Elder paused in shock. He'd expected that they'd make the bridge crossing mostly alone – the last of the surviving Pukes in the city making a quiet escape to Drew Arrow's estate. But what he saw in the moonlight, stretching the length of the floating bridge surprised him: a massive congregation of foot traffic, moving silently, peacefully, across the bridge. 
It appeared that more than just Prime had heard Drew Arrow's radio message.
It was impossible for them all to be Pukes. As Elder caught up to the others, moving down onto the bridge deck, he realized that almost no one crossing the bridge was unmodified. They were Stems, apparently unaffected by the contagion yet, but tired and battered from the rioting. They were fleeing the city towards the only shining light that could be seen in the bleak darkness.
Elder, Eydie, Prime, Kevin and Beat merged into the mass of humanity. Everyone was moving with purpose, heads down, carrying on their backs what little they could grab at a moment's notice. Elder and the others simply melded into the crowd, pushing forward across the bridge.
"So much for the stealthy exit," Kevin commented, as they descended towards the level of the lake's surface. 
"They can't all expect Drew Arrow to help them," Elder said.
"Where else are they going to go?" Eydie asked.
"Drew Arrow won't help them," Prime said. "He specifically relayed his message to Pukes." Prime pushed forward, leading the others. His bulk marked him apart, as always. He seemed like an adult surrounded by children. Like the Pied Piper playing his flute.
"I think they'll take the slim odds of Drew Arrow's mercy over the odds back there," Eydie said as she looked back over her shoulder at the dark city behind her.
"Fuck this," Prime cursed, drawing a few hesitant looks from the surrounding crowd. "If one of these sons-of-bitches starts flipping out..."
"Just keep walking, Prime."
"We're sitting ducks out here..." 
"Just keep walking."
"I– I saw a kid back there," Elder looked back.
"A what?" Prime was only half listening. "A kid?"
"Yeah, in the bushes where we parked. She was... eating..."
"What? Stems can't eat."
"Yeah, but she was eating a cat..."
"That's insane–" Prime was cut short. Simultaneously, they all heard the sound.
It was the rush of a jet engine, far away, but closing in. All eyes shot to the sky, scanning the stars in the moonlight. A murmur of concern rose from the crowd. Kevin was the first to spot it, and pointed at a black crucifix against the night's sky. 
The thundering of jet engines grew until the sound was almost unbearable. Then it was passing overhead, flying low. So close that it was more felt than seen.
"What the hell?" Kevin screamed over the roar of engines.
"We've got to move!" Prime said with sudden urgency.
"What is it?" Eydie screamed, following the shadow in the air.
"A-10!" Prime called out.
"A what?"
"A-10! Warthog!" Prime pushed forward, shoving his way through the crowd.
"What's that?" Eydie followed in the wake Prime created.
"Tank killer!" Prime yelled back over his shoulder.
Eydie's eyes shot to the sky, the full realization hitting her. "They wouldn't!"
"Just keep moving!" Prime began to bulldoze forward, knocking bodies out of his path. The others tried to stay behind him, but the crowd was beginning to panic. The black shadow in the sky was banking, turning for another pass.
It came in low and fast, perpendicular to the bridge, barking a tongue of fire from its nose. The high explosive 30mm cannon shells cut into the bridge behind them, slicing the bridge deck in two. Screams of fear and pain erupted from the crowd as the mass of bodies began to surge forward. What had started as a somber march, turned into a panicked sprint. People were shedding belongings to lighten their load as the tank killer circled for another pass.
The second strafe of fire cut across the nose of the fleeing crowd. Running figures exploded in half as the shells cut through them, impacting the bridge deck. The forward momentum of the crowd halted as the cascade of explosions enveloped the bridge in front of it. Concrete dust and body parts rained down on the hesitating mob. 
The tank killer banked to the east, slowly circling. When it was far away, out in the darkness over Mercer Island, it lined up parallel with the floating bridge. Slowly, it began to dive, lowering it nose at the stalled crowd.
"Jump!" Prime screamed, pulling off his backpack and dropping to the ground. He threw his shotgun aside and forced his way to the edge of the bridge. When the crowd proved resistant to his intentions, he lowered his shoulder and charged.
 The others followed, picking through the panicked crowd. The airplane was closing in, the roar of its engines again deafening. At the bridge's edge, Prime threw himself over the railing into the dark, churning water. Kevin and Beat followed suit, leaping over the low concrete rise and vanishing into the deep. 
Eydie looked at Elder with panicked eyes. Elder was struggling out of the straps of his backpack. Above them, the tank killer's cannon barked to life. With this pass, the explosions chewed through the long axis of the gathered mass, bisecting those attempting to flee the city. 
Bodies and concrete exploded all around Eydie and Elder. Elder grabbed Eydie by the shoulders and threw her over the railing. Elder followed, still tangled in his backpack. 
He hit the freezing water with a large splash, instantly sinking. Under the surface, he frantically wrestled with the clips of his backpack. Finally, as his lungs screamed in pain, the straps came free and the backpack fell away. Elder kicked hard, climbing for the surface, but in the pitch black it was hard to tell up from down. 
Elder's body cried out for air.

#

A hand grabbed Elder by the hair, the pain shocking him back to full consciousness. A light shone in his eyes. Elder blinked. The roar of the tank killer's engine had died away, replaced by the more subtle rumble of a gas-powered motor. The face of the man who held Elder's hair came into focus. Elder was still submerged up to his waist in the icy water, but the man had hauled Elder's upper torso onto a cold, hard platform.
"Another fucking Stem," a voice said.
Elder flailed in a panic. He tried to speak, but his teeth were chattering from the cold. Elder reached out and took full hold of the platform that thrust out over the water. He held himself there, half in-half out of the water, and looked up. The man holding his hair let go, stepping back. There was a sound of a shotgun being cycled and Elder quickly looked to his right. 
There, another person had been pulled out of the lake, placed in a seated position on the platform. A man stood behind it, a shotgun lowered to the back of the person's head. In the instant the gun fired, the head evaporated into red mist. 
The man with the shotgun casually pushed the now headless body back into the lake with his foot.
"This one, too," said the man who'd pulled Elder out of the water. And the man with the twelve-gauge turned toward Elder.
"No, no!" Elder mumbled through frozen lips.
The shotgun came up. Elder looked up into its gaping barrel. The man worked the gun's action.
"No, no, not him! I know him!" a familiar voice called. The barrel came down and Elder was pulled fully out of the water. 
His shirt was roughly ripped open and his chest examined. When no sign of a plug was found, the two men moved on down the platform. Elder was left to shiver in the cold.
"Elder? How you doing?" The same voice came. Elder looked up to see Sweet Beat looking down at him. She was wrapped in a towel that she quickly pulled off her shoulders and wrapped around Elder. Dressed only in her underwear, she helped Elder to his feet.
"What the hell?" Elder asked, his teeth still chattering, pulling the towel tightly around him. The two men had fished another body of the water. They examined it, disliked what they saw, and decapitated it with the shotgun.
"Stems," Beat said, putting an arm around Elder. "They've got to make sure no Stems get aboard."
"Aboard?" Elder looked around. He was standing on a low diving platform hanging from the rear of a large, luxury vessel. Beat and Elder walked up a small set of fiberglass stairs onto an aft deck, where a small group of sopping wet, disheveled Pukes were being tended to by a small army of uniformed personnel. "What is this?"
"The Little John," Beat said. A uniformed woman brought Beat another towel, a large, fluffy, flannel affair that Beat quickly wrapped around herself. 
"The what? Little?" Elder looked up. Above the aft deck, a small helicopter was perched on a landing deck. Above that, the flying bridge could be seen, bristling with antenna. 
"It's one of Drew Arrow's yachts," Beat said. "When they saw the attack, they maneuvered across the lake to rescue any survivors."
"The Tank Killer!" Elder said in shock, remembering. He turned around, looked off the rear of the ship. The floating bridge was no more than a hundred yards away, burning in the dark.
"The A-10 crashed into the bridge on its fourth pass," Beat relayed. "She nosedived into the deck. The whole thing will sink now," Beat said without emotion. "Eventually."
Beat took Elder's hand and turned him around, leading him towards a set of frosted glass doors at the fore of the deck. They opened automatically, Star Trek style, as they approached. Inside was a lush lounge lined along both bulkheads by long, leather couches. A burning fireplace sat in the center, near a large, circular bar. 
Prime, soaking wet, was sitting at a bar stool, sipping a martini, looking like he'd died and gone to heaven. He gave Elder a nod as he entered.
"They have orders to only rescue the Pukes," Beat continued, stepping away from Elder. She sat down next to Kevin, who was sprawled out on one of the couches. She picked up his head and placed it in her lap, tenderly. "Drew Arrow is only interested in saving the Pukes."
"Too right," Prime said between sips of his drink. "One of those fucking things aboard, and we'd all be dead."
"Where's Eydie?" Elder asked, scanning the lounge. 
 Beat pointed to the ceiling.
"What?" Elder said, looking up.
"Talking to the captain."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Beat smiled. "Maybe you should go have a word, too."

#

Elder was led up to the bridge by an excruciatingly polite woman, dressed in a uniform bearing the Arrowsoft logo. She asked three times if Elder would like something to eat. He did, but was far too curious to pause for a meal. She held the door for Elder Tull as he stepped onto the bridge, still wrapped in his fluffy towel.
Eydie stood before a mass of blinking controls, the dark lake beyond the large windows moving by slowly. The Little John was underway once more, having rescued everyone it was going to rescue from the attack on the bridge.
"Elder!" Eydie said with surprise, hopping across the bridge to hug Elder. Elder hugged her back, picking her up clean off the deck. "You're alive. It was a hard sell convincing the crew we weren't Stems. Luckily, Sweet Beat was doing most of the talking, and was mostly naked."
"She got to me just in time," Elder replied.
She kissed him softly, as if they'd been apart for days.
"You should meet our captain," she said with sly pleasure once they broke off the kiss. Eydie led Elder to a large, high-backed chair that sat mid-console in the bridge. The chair turned as Elder approached, revealing its occupant: a small, middle-aged, gray-bearded man. Elder was instantly starstruck. 
It was Drew Arrow himself.
"Good evening," Drew Arrow said, holding out a hand.
"You're Drew Arrow," Elder said in disbelief, taking the hand and shaking it.
"That I am," Drew Arrow smiled. "You'll forgive me," he said, turn his seat back to the controls. "Even this ship doesn't sail itself."
Elder stepped up beside the captain's chair as Drew Arrow returned his attention to the wheel.
"Err, thank you," Elder blurted out, realizing he hadn't already said it.
"You are welcome. You and your friends are very lucky, from what this young lady tells me." Drew Arrow turned to Eydie. "She says you were at the Opera House? Where it all began?"
"Yes," Eydie looked at Elder. "We think, somehow, we caused this."
"Yes," Drew Arrow nodded, without a hint of sarcasm or irony. "We believe that it all began at the beginning, as it were. A Cascade Psycho-Social Terminal Event – I have far too many eggheads working for me – they suspect that the fault began in the core node of the Stem array: serial number one. All of this began with Doctor Raul. He was at the Opera House, yes?"
"Yes," Eydie confirmed.
"Stem array?" Elder asked.
"Hmm, yes, well it's only a working theory, mind you, but it does explain events. The Stem, you see, are all interconnected."
"What, like a computer?" 
"Yes, exactly. For diagnostic reasons... to pick up software patches... for updates... we've reversed engineered the Whole Life Interface as far as we could in our labs. We know it has primitive wireless capabilities. We suspect, perhaps, that Whole Life Inc. included the technology surreptitiously. Their links to the Big U have always been murky... What future Communist dictator wouldn't want print outs of the biometrics of each and every one of his citizens, after all...?
"Anyway, we theorize there might have been some crosstalk. Nodes speaking directly to other nodes, if you know what I mean-"
"Ad hoc?" Elder volunteered.
"Yes, very good," Drew looked up from his controls, impressed. "Well, if Doctor Raul had a Psycho-Social Terminal Event – he basically went bat shit crazy for some reason – then that event dropped like a pebble in a pond, radiating out to all the stems within communication distance; those stems, in turn, passed the event along to all stems within communication distance to them; and so on. Creating an array."
"A cascade failure," Elder added, understanding.
"Each bulb popped as the surge passed through it..."
"Then it can't be stopped?" Elder realized.
"No, it's peer to peer, now. After event zero, there's no reset."
"It'll spread like a virus," Eydie said. "Each sick Stem infecting a thousand more. As long as two Stems are within communication distance, it will keep on spreading."
"They're done for." Drew said without emotion. "Perhaps you'll understand now the harsh measures that need to taken," he cocked his head back, aft. "On the aft deck... No Stem is immune."
"Yes," Elder nodded.
"The only hope now is Bannock," Drew said with a swell of pride. "Separate ourselves from the Stems, wait out the contagion. With the power grid offline, there's the possibility the Stems will run out of power before they destroy the whole planet."
"But," Elder remembered, "I saw one... eating..."
"Eating?" Drew looked up in surprise. "Eating what?"
"A cat – flesh."
"Oh, I see," Drew replied.
"Why would it do that?" Elder asked.
"I think our troubles might be bigger than we previously understood. But it changes nothing. Bannock will still be your goal. Bannock and nothing else."
"Our goal?" Eydie was surprised. "You're not coming with us?"
"Oh, no. There's still much I need to do here, close to the city. You shall go to Bannock, with the other rescued Pukes. I will remain behind to pick up the stragglers. My radio message is still playing. Perhaps there will be more that will attempt to make it to my estate, and safety."
"But after the tank killer, you won't be safe aboard this ship."
"Perhaps. But I will not be aboard this ship," Drew said theatrically. "This is The Little John. She's just the launch. That is my boat, right there." Drew Arrow pointed out the large windshield in front of him. In the dark, the lights of a massive vessel were approaching – a ship that dwarfed The Little John by many orders of magnitude.
"Jesus Christ!" Elder murmured.
"No," Drew Arrow said with obvious pride. "The Robin Hood."





Chapter 28

The black sack was pulled roughly off of Nathan's head.
Nathan gasped for breath, sucking in the freezing, smoke-laced air. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to a panoramic view of the city. Nathan choked back a scream of surprise. He was floating above the city, looking down upon it. A large fire was burning below him, somewhere out in the center of the lake. Nathan looked left and then right and realized he was not floating – he was seated at the opened side doorway of a helicopter, still naked except for his underwear. 
The helicopter was banking over the city. Peters sat on the precipice of the open doorway, no longer dressed in his designer Italian suit. Instead, he sported camo BDU's and an AR rifle slung from a single point harness around his neck. The two special ops goons sat across from Nathan, still cowled by their gas masks. 
Nathan shivered.
"We're evac'ing everyone," Peters began, leaning forward and looking down at the city far below him. "Seattle's a total write off. This is the last black hawk out of town. Consider yourself lucky."
"Where are we going?" Nathan asked.
"Not sure," Peters said without emotion. "Battalion Command. Then maybe a C-17 to Handford. Word is they're setting up SOCOM there, close to the fusion reactors. They take a priority now – protecting them."
"You sent men to kill me," Nathan said between chattering teeth.
"No, no," Peters corrected, turning to face Nathan. "That was a... mistake. The Big U security personnel became... overzealous... they've been compromised... by the phage. They had to be taken care of." Peters glanced over his shoulder at the two special ops goons in their gas masks. "Regular army thinks they've found a cure, however. At least a way to offset the symptoms. Massive power infusions to the stem. Megawatts. That's why the civil defense focus has shifted to the fusion reactor network." Peters paused, fixing Nathan with a serious stare. "I'm sorry about Jude," he said, authentically. 
"She..." Nathan searched for the words. "She tried to remove her stem."
"It can't be removed, Nathan. Once it's been implanted..."
"She said it was killing us all."
"She'd been infected, Nathan. She'd gone insane."
Nathan didn't answer. Peters turned his attention back to the city below him. The fire in the center of the lake seemed to be burning on one of the floating bridges.
"Why'd you come for me?" Nathan finally asked over the thump of the helicopter blades.
"If the army is correct, if their hypothesis holds water, then the rate of infection is related to the age of WLI implantation: those who got their stems early are going crazy the fastest. If that's true, then..."
"Then, I was the last to be implanted..." Nathan finished.
"They'll want to run tests... the scientists..."
"I–" Nathan began to object, but thought better of it. He looked at the special ops goons sitting ominously behind their gas masks, and then turned his gaze back to the open doorway. "They're all going to die, aren't they?" he asked no one in particular.
"Perhaps," Peters replied. "But that would be a blessing..."
"What?"
"Those who've died... those whose central nervous systems just burned out from the crazy... they just haven't laid down to die..."
"What?"
Peters looked away from the panorama and up at Nathan. "Jude was right. It's the stem. It keeps them moving, controlling them," he said with utter sincerity. "They're like the walking dead now."
Nathan shivered against the cold. 





Epilogue

Elder Tull dreamed he was adrift, fishing on a serene lake. The sun was setting majestically in the West as mosquitoes buzzed around him. 
Silently, his float sank below the water. Elder moved smoothly into action. Pulling back on his pole, he hurriedly reeled in his catch. The large bass leapt from the water as Elder climbed to his feet, fighting against the weight on the line. Moments later, he had the fish out of the water and pulled into his small boat. 
In victory, Elder dropped back into his seat, exhausted. The fish flopped at his feet, frantically fighting for breath, spasming and kicking. Its eye stared up at the evening sky, fixed, its mouth gasping. 
Suddenly, Elder was no longer in the boat, but on his knees in the destruction of Westlake Square, the dying Stem woman bloodied and convulsing before him. The echo of the bomb blast still rang in his ears in a high-pitched sustained note. The woman's mouth was moving as if to speak, or gasp for air, but no sound was reaching Elder's ears. 
Then, through ringing in his ears, Elder heard a single word: 
"Murder."

#

Elder Tull awoke with a start, sitting up quickly and breathing in hard. He could still hear the ringing in his ears, but he was no longer in Westlake Square. He was sitting next to Eydie on a blanket spread out on a wildflower-covered hillside. He looked down over Bannock sitting sleepily below him. 
The ringing in his ears faded.
He exhaled and lay down gently beside the still-sleeping Eydie. He watched her purr softly, lost in Elysium, her beautiful face bathed in the warm, early spring sunlight. What a difference six months had made, Elder thought, looking at her sleeping features. All signs of malnutrition had vanished from her face; the hair she'd cut off to disguise herself as a Stem slowly grown out. She was once again the woman that Elder remembered from before the food shortages had begun: young, healthy, and beautiful. 
And Elder's. 
They'd made urgent love there on the blanket, in the afternoon air, before succumbing to exertion and falling asleep amongst the flowers. Elder looked over to the picnic basket, sitting beside two Sig Sauer assault rifles, and reached into it for the half empty bottle of raspberry wine. He sat up, took a sip and lied back down, satisfied, watching the wisps of clouds cross the sky above him.
Eydie stirred beside him.
He kissed her as she began to wake, cupping one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. She moaned and kissed Elder back, her tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. Elder felt the urgency rising in his loins again, and he instantly knew he wouldn't be able to stop until the urgency had been satisfied. He rolled over on top of her, holding himself up on his elbows, as her legs parted underneath him. Elder worked his way down her figure, kissing exposed flesh where it was available, raising the hem of her dress along her thighs, hungry for the taste of her. Her moans grew louder as he found the right spot with his tongue.
"Elder!" Eydie said suddenly, sitting up, kneeing Elder in the jaw. She rolled onto her knees and snatched one of the black rifles, cocking it.
"What?" Elder said in irritation, rubbing his wounded jaw. He pulled himself up and followed the point of Eydie's rifle up the hillside.
"Skinny!" Eydie half yelled, half whispered. Elder shaded his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun and looked into the distance. He couldn't see any–
Then he saw her, perhaps fifty yards distant, at the crest of the hill, a silhouette against the sun. As his eyes adjusted to the glare, he began to make out more details. A thin figure with long, flowing hair. A woman with full, pert breasts bared to the world. 
She moved like an apparition, floating through the long grass. Elder could have mistaken her for a faerie, a beautiful, radiant nude, with the sun behind framing the outline of her perfect body. But instantly, Elder knew what she was. He scooped up the second rifle and snapped it to his shoulder.
"Just the one?" Elder asked as he pulled himself to his feet, not letting the barrel of the rifle dip.
"So far," Eydie replied, keeping the distant figure in her ghost sight. "But they hunt in packs..."
"Has it seen us?" Elder asked.
"Fuck, I hope–" Eydie began, but the distant figure answered Elder's question. Her head suddenly snapped in the direction of the picnic, and the naked woman began to sprint. She was sprinting, full bore, towards Elder and Eydie, the mane of her hair billowing up behind her.
Eydie took the first shot: a controlled, aimed, single squeeze of the trigger. The bullet caught the sprinting woman in the left hip, releasing a spray of red blood. The shot should have hobbled her, but she sprinted on as if the wound was nothing more than a bee sting. 
Elder fired next, catching the woman in the right shoulder. The force of the impact caused the naked woman to momentarily stumble. But quickly recovering, the woman regained her stride and charged down the hillside.
They snapped off three more rounds with indeterminate effectiveness before the woman sprang into the air. She completely cleared the long grass, vanishing into the brilliant light of the afternoon sun. Elder went full auto, firing wildly at the black splotch in the sky. 
A bullet must have hit home by happenstance. The spot against the sun suddenly exploded, throwing Elder and Eydie back down onto their blanket. A chunk of skull landed in the grass next Elder. It buried itself into the dirt, a tuft of long, silky hair still attached to it. 
"Shit!" Elder coughed, pulling himself up. 
"That was close," Eydie groaned in pain.
"You're a lousy shot," Elder said as he collected himself, allowing himself a chuckle.
"I thought a hip shot would have dropped her."
"Dropped her? You know there's only one shot that counts with the Skinnies..."
"Yeah," Eydie agreed, checking her rifle. "Yeah..."
"If you get a clear shot like that again," Elder lectured. "Don't waste it–"
But he was forced to cut his marksmanship lesson shot. Elder's words faded as he caught sight of another head rising over the crest of the hillside. It was followed by another, then another, until a dozen or so figures where looming in the sunlight above them.
"Shit!" Elder exclaimed, quickly ejecting the spent magazine from his rifle.
"Skinnies never hunt alone!" Eydie repeated, bringing her rifle to her shoulder.
Elder realized there was no spare magazine for his rifle. "Fuck it! Come on!" 
Elder grabbed Eydie by her outstretched arm and turned her around, pulling her after him, fleeing down the hill towards the town of Bannock, resting in the valley below them.

#

Above, the Stems paused at the hill crest. They had been drawn by the sound of the explosion, but now they could sense the nearness of warm blood. Aroused, they sniffed the air, their dead eyes relaying nothing to their dead brains. The pack of corpses milled at the precipice of the hill, searching. They could almost taste the flesh, it was so close... but where exactly...
Outwardly, the Stems had suffered no deterioration in appearance. The group of Stems could have easily been mistaken from a group of young friends, out for a walk in the woods – if those young friends had not bothered to fully dress, or remove their winter clothing. Their bodies were still beautiful, perfectly maintained by their stems.
But the dead eyes trapped in their gorgeous faces told another story. The dead, unblinking eyes stared vacantly into space. Though their bodies were still moving, propelled by their stems, their brains had long since ceased to function. Their implants were now in control, animating the corpses like puppets, seeking out any source of power. 
All that mattered now was that the stem kept itself functioning, continuing its single goal of maintaining the health of its host body. That the host body no longer housed a living soul was immaterial to the programming of the device. 
The dead had never died – not completely. While there was still power in their implants, the Stems would keep shambling, sniffing out new sources of power. With the electric grid dark, there remained only one source of reliable energy, easily extractable by the stem's backup subroutine.
No, the dead had never died – not completely.
And they'd returned to consume the living.