🚀 go-pugleaf

          The question of precedent was addressed in 1987, when Andrew
     Goodwin formed Awesome Amalgamated with the express purpose of
     acting as a controlling agency for the privatization of the
     National Aeronautics and Space Administration, bringing what had
     been (and in many ways still was) a public, failing agency under
     successful private control.  The motivations of successful
     business spurred the streamlining and efficiency of the
     operation, while still ensuring that the public trust was
     maintained.  In this way, as Awesome Amalgamated's influence
     rises, we shall find ourselves in one of two roles -- an indirect
     influence of considerable strength, or an active participant in
     the process of administration.
          That our administrative capacity is proven is without
     question.  That Awesome Amalgamated has shown the capacity to
     maintain a high ethical standard while still providing a high
     quality product is also without question.  The question now is
     whether or not we are willing to accept indirect, and therefore
     flawed, influence while we see the infrastructure, biosphere and
     populations deteriorate -- or whether we are willing to take the
     responsibility and duty of active participation with local,
     state, federal and international authorities which could ensure
     our ability to bring the resources of Awesome Amalgamated to bear
     on the problems of our world.

                                        --from "A Plan for Our Future,"
                                             delivered 5/4/93 by
                                             Graham Thomas



                                   2035
                   A Decidedly Different Superguy Story

                               Chapter Five
                                    by
                             Eric Alfred Burns


     Alexandria strode into the room, with just enough sashay to draw they
eyes of every person in the room to her.  Of course, they would have
anyway.  It was part of her nature.  "Good morning, all," she said, smiling
sweetly.  "Any new fun crises to deal with?"
     "Morning, Alex," the chorus called.  Alex and Anthony liked a
comfortable OffCent -- this was a team they had worked with for years, made
up of the very best of the currently active Alphas and Betas available.
They needed the relaxed, comfortable team that had always been at the upper
echelons of Awesome Amalgamated in order to deal with the pressures of
administration.
     "Morning, Sis," Anthony said, nodding to her.  "You're late again."
     "So fire me.  Or get Dad too."
     "Later.  We're dealing with a new one -- Site Fourteen-B in the
Carolina Sector's got three times their normal Dioxin count.  We think
there may have been a containment rupture."
     "Damn.  Population's pretty sparse in that area -- can you relocate
into the Charleston Metroplex?"
     "We are -- no sign of new Metagenetic Expression -- but I guess
there's some pretty bad reactions.  Maybe even some deaths."
     Alex bit her lip.  "What's the timetable on fourteen-B?"
     "Scheduled for reprocessing in July, 2037.  Our Emergency Processing
crews are strained to the limit as it is."
     "Damn, the PreGov generated a lot of garbage," Alex muttered.
     "Old news, Sis.  Check me on this."
     "Right."  The two had been working in the upper echelons of Awesome
Amalgamated since they were fourteen.  They synced perfectly in these
situations -- Anthony's logic was impeccable, Alex's intuition was sharper
than any known.
     "Skim thirty or forty promising Gamma-stus a year early, put them into
advanced training.  Ratio the Edutraining sixty-five/thirty-five weighted
to Hypnos.  Three weeks, max it.  Relocate three Betas into Toxic Emergency
Processing, and get five Beta-stus into training on it.  Next month,
rebalance the teams to add three more, with a mix of eighty percent old
hands, twenty percent new blood.  That should give us back our margin.
Check?"
     "Erase/correct," she said.  "Attempt a near total blend and mix,
trying to break up old teams as we integrate the new teams.  Add one week
training for all of them.  Get them to form new relationships and
dependencies, and minimize the `rookie' syndrome.  Check?"
     "Check.  Dawson, run the model through Awenet.  In the interim, Sis,
we keep DefSquad Crisis Containment on it?"
     "No other choice."
     "Right.  Had breakfast yet, Alex?"
     "No -- let's go have it with Dad.  It's been three weeks."
     "Right.

                                * * * * * *

     Chalandra's AirDinghey landed at the lowest level pad.  It was one
level above the street -- catch as catch can.  Chalandra slipped her Active
ID into the special black slipcover -- SmartComs would still be able to
read it, but a glance wouldn't tell people she was an Alpha.  She didn't
know if slipcovers were as common down here as the Vids lead people to
believe, but she was willing to risk it out of necessity.
     She left, nodding to the Gamma-cit pilot.  He hadn't been willing to
talk to her.  Chalandra had been realizing how little contact she had with
the Gammas, not to mention Deltas or below.  She knew her staff, and they
were comfortable with her, and she knew any number of Betas -- Dr. Less as
a Beta-cit, for example.  But she couldn't say she had much contact below
that.
     When had society become so cut and dried?  Chalandra found it hard to
remember when it hadn't been -- after all, most of the worlds she lived in
previous to her American existence had been Class societies -- Germany,
France, England, Japan....
     She walked to the Street-Level Stairwell.  It was late, so the
SmartCom had the gate locked -- Gamma privs to open it, this hour.
Chalandra didn't break stride.  The SmartCom flashed green and the gateway
opened before she got anywhere near it.  The Escalator kicked in before she
reached that, two, but she didn't break stride before she stepped off the
landing.  She glanced around -- the sidewalks in this area were beneath the
tiers of the catwalk, and a domed plastiglass shell lined the streets --
there were regular breaks in it, all sealed, this time of night.  Of
course, she could go through any one she wanted, but that wasn't her goal.
Not out, down.
     Chalandra walked East on BackEast Street.  She knew the secondary
accessway was in this direction.  She knew Awenet would track her where it
could.  Big deal -- she was an Alpha-cit.  She could go where she wanted.
What she didn't want to do was attract more direct attention -- along the
way she had to disappear.  She had to go into the Pit, and she didn't want
DefSquad along handing her spelunkers goggles.

                                * * * * * *

     Anthony and Alexandria Goodwin -- the so-called Awesome Twins --
stepped into the apartment bearing trays of food.  They didn't want the
hassle of servants, today.  Their father didn't care for servants, anyhow.
He was self-sufficient, he always said.
     "Good morning," Andy said, smiling at his children.  He was sitting at
his multi-modular Systems Workstation, and was apparently working quite
hard.
     "Good morning, Father," Alex said.  She always spoke first, to their
father -- this was standard practice since the Awesome Twins could speak at
all.  "You shouldn't be working this hard, Father.  You shouldn't even be
working at this time of the morning.  You know that."
     "Yes, but in the afternoon the medicines dull my thought processes --
I need to grab what work I can."
     "We know, Dad, we know."  Anthony shook his head, set down the tray,
and moved forward to embrace his father.  Andy squeezed -- just enough to
remind Anthony that his father's strength was still considerable -- and
moved on to his daughter.  Anthony read the different displays.
     "Still working from the tRNA decomposition angle, Dad?" he asked.
     "Yes -- that still seems to be the key -- the RNA of our cells seems
to be having some difficulty in transcription, causing more and more non-
viable cells to be produced.  The medicines slow that -- especially with
the bone-marrow implants -- but I'm still trying to puzzle out a way to
convince the cell nucleus to keep writing instructions for the Cells to
keep working."  Andy spoke lightly, but all three knew the seriousness of
what he was saying.  Andy -- and all of the former Awesome Force -- were
dying because their bodies were breaking down.  The protein production in
their Cells was failing.  They were literally wasting away, with only their
medicines slowing the process.
     "Makes sense," Alex said.  "It's almost inevitable.  I mean, the
radiation put your DNA in a state of flux, which the chemical accident was
then able to rewrite.  I guess after a while, that flux continued to drift,
and the instructions get...."
     "Garbled.  Right.  But enough of that.  What did you bring for
breakfast?"
     "Well, it's against rationing, but as we grew it in the Arboretum
ourselves, we felt entitled...."  Anthony lifted the first tray of with a
flourish, and Andy was confronted with orange slices, strawberries,
grapefruit...."
     "Anthony, this is wonderful," Andy said.
     "*And,*" Alex said, "we had enough strawberries to make a sauce that
you'll die for on these waffles."  She lifted the other tray off, while
Alex poured some espresso.  The Twins grinned.  It had been a rough month
on them all -- the Twins, as co-vice-chairs of Awesome Amalgamated, were
trying to keep everything running smoothly, and Father's friend dying....
     "Well," Andy said, "let's eat.  Sit, you two.  Did I ever tell you of
the time we were first blasted into the Television Dimension...?"

                                * * * * * *

     Toxic Containment Officer Five-C sprayed another section of the
landfill with the white foam.  The foam immediately began to harden,
absorbing and trapping the leaking toxins, and protecting the environment.
He glanced at his ChemSuit's sniffers -- the levels were dropping, but it
would be a while.  There was a high chlorine content in the air, and more
than a little sulfur.  Flakes of rust had cracked out as well -- the whole
area was more than a little toxic.
     "Five," C-Leader reported, "meet up with Four and Nine in Section L3.
we have a family unit."
     "From where?" he asked.
     "Apparently they were camping."
     "Bloody Noj.  Deltas?"
     "Gammas, if you can believe it.  We need a removal, soonest.
MedEvac's on it's way."
     TCO-5C joined his fellows, who were working with the man and wife.
Nearby, a little girl -- maybe nine -- was staring at a stretch of landfill
where the grass was withering.
     "Five," Nine called, "get the girl -- these two are both having a
Negative reaction and are on OxySupport.  Get a rebreather on her."
     TCO-5C was amazed that the girl was standing -- this was a bad patch -
- she had to be breathing one part chlorine in a hundred.  He moved to her.
She kept looking....
     The grass she was staring at was perking up...growing.
     TOC-5C slipped his recorder mode on.  "I need a check here," he said.
     Four stepped near him.  "Metagenetic expression?" she asked.
     "Affirmative.  I note high survival capacity and Pathogenic Stimulus,
Plant Kingdom."
     "I check.  Call it in, I'll call a Legal Officer."

                                * * * * * *

     Chalandra slipped into the Accessway.  This door didn't open
automatically.  Instead, she had to push the release, and allow the systems
to process her request to enter.  It took a few seconds -- this hatch
didn't rate being on the Primary SmartCom net -- for it to decide whether
or not to open, to demand to know Chalandra's business, or to call
DefSquad.
     In the end, there was only one conclusion.  Chalandra's ActId was
Alpha.  The Hatch didn't have the privilege to challenge her.  The bolts
drew back, >thunk< >thunk< >thunk<, and the door swung open.  Chalandra
slipped in and it shut behind her, sealing her in hermetically even as the
light panels activated.
     There was a corridor -- which looked like it belonged more on a
Submarine than in the side of a building -- and a spiral staircase
disappearing into the floor.  Chalandra checked her map.  She knew where
she wanted to go to get lost, but she needed the PDA-map to get there.
     Her PDA was an old model -- it was one of those with standalone
memory.  She would need it -- the tunnels wouldn't necessarily have Awenet
access.  She glanced at her route and began to descend into the tunnels.
She heard someone coming -- maybe to greet the Alpha-cit -- and moved more
quickly.  A quick melding into mist and she'd be at the bottom in seconds,
but she didn't want Awenet to lose her signal yet and trigger another
DefSquad alarm.  Better to let the signal just get confused and lost in the
heart of the machine.  Awenet couldn't trigger for that.  Chalandra hoped.
     Chalandra slid into an access tunnel.  Her Vampiric form was very
flexible, despite its strength.  She could easily make her way through the
cramped repair chute.  She moved along, keeping her senses alert -- down
here, lighting was more erratically spaced.  She knew she had to be careful
not to take a wrong turn -- these tunnels were endless.
     It had started some twenty to thirty years before, when Awesome
Amalgamated started to build these deep shafts for heavy production.  This
deep into the Earth, production facilities could be made self-contained,
with waste products being easily channeled into processing facilities.
Heat pollution, toxic chemicals, noise pollution, air pollution -- all were
contained, processed -- dealt with -- in the pits.  It was terrifically
environmentally sound.
     But such elaborate tunneling needed servicing -- kilometers and
kilometers of ducts and chambers had to be built to reinforce and service
the whole system.  As the system brought more and more people into it,
those who fell through the cracks eventually fell to where there was space
no one used, that stayed warm and dry even though it was empty.  The
underclass -- that one tenth of one percent who hadn't, couldn't or
wouldn't fit in, were swallowed by the pit.
     They were the ones who attacked Chalandra -- they could reach the
streets at night, when traffic was low, and prey on targets there, getting
cred and IDs for ration packs, supplies... whatever they needed.
Otherwise, they had to raid production facilities, and that could be
dangerous for them.  Of course, some Deltas and Epsilons left their ActIds
at home and played Pit to get things -- but that was rare.
     Chalandra heard music -- it was a lulling music, so this wasn't a
production facility.  She was passing something else.  A lounge, maybe, or
perhaps--
     She passed a grate and looked down on the floor, careful not to show
herself.
     It was a Cafeteria.  One of the Production crews, all Deltas, all in
the grey jumpsuits of the crews, were eating at long tables.  She watched a
second.  Each table seemed to eat in unison -- the first table's forks and
spoons dipping on the downbeat of the music, the second table's dipping on
the counterbeat, and so forth.  Back and forth, back and forth...it was
almost hypnotic to watch, like the swinging of a metronome.
     Chalandra shook her head and continued to crawl.  There was a juncture
not twenty meters ahead, including a runged ladder down--
     She smelled humanity in the juncture.  Not fresh, but her sense of
smell was acute.  It was a dirty smell -- the Pits.  She was on their trail
-- she could forget the PDA map -- she could follow them home all by
herself.  She crawled into the Juncture--
     But which way?  Left, or down.  the trail went through both ways.
Down, she guess, and began the climb--
     And froze.  There was Graffiti on the wall -- stabbing out in red
letters like a sniff of urine in a clean apartment.  She read it, and felt
herself almost fall -- it stunned her.
     "TRASHMAN LIVES," it read.  An angry tone of defiance.
     But Bruce Rogers -- Trashman -- had died decades before.  He had
killed six DefSquad officers and done serious damage to a Food Service
Processing Facility.  He refused to be taken.  His business losses had
driven him insane -- driven him against they system he had protected.
Chalandra had been there when Andy and Trudy had tried to shout some sense
into the man....
     Forget it.  It wasn't her concern.  She had to keep moving, before
someone figured out she was there.



<<The Characters herein are used by permission of their Authors.  The
events herein should not be considered to affect said characters save in
the context of this story>>