“I guess that’s true,” said Thor.
A grizzly bear wearing a shirt and tie and carrying a skateboard stepped off the elevator into the lobby and walked to the concierge desk.
“I’d like to check out, please,” said the grizzly bear, putting his keycard on the counter.
“Sure thing,” said Catrina, swinging her legs around, hopping off the desk, taking the keycard, and logging into the computer. “And how was your stay, sir?”
“Pretty uneventful,” said the grizzly bear, shrugging.
“Tell me about it, man,” said Thor to the grizzly bear. “I think it’s an epidemic.”
Twenty-Six: Meanwhile, Back at the Compound…
“The matter,” said Phil, “is entirely on our shoulders. It is our… responsibility to rise up, to take the reigns.”
Quetzalcoatl had been staying with the cabal of philosophers for nearly a week. They had been kind enough to give him his own corner of the basement and a Sunday newspaper, to be used however he saw fit.
He spent the majority of his time squatting against the wall and wearing the Business section as a blanket, observing the endless parade of stoners and liberal arts majors and listening to the various theories being thrown about. He also spent a good deal of time trying to identify the free-wheeling odors they shared the building with.
“But we cannot simply… impose our goals,” countered Bill, “without at least… offering the populace the opportunity to dissent.”
Quetzalcoatl had tried to be a gracious guest, but it had proved to be astoundingly taxing. The philosophers continually asked him questions that had no answer. They answered questions that weren’t asked. Quetzalcoatl spent one night outside and discovered that the cigarette and gum adorned sidewalk was more comfortable than his corner. There were beards everywhere.
“Allowing dissent,” said Syl, “is no different than conceding our argument… preemptively.”
Quetzalcoatl couldn’t pronounce or identify most of the food they offered. He had, instead, been subsisting entirely on Spaghetti-Os. Most of them thought he was doing it ironically.
“Yet,” replied Will, “we have no choice. To quell an uprising… that hasn’t even risen…”
Between the absinthe, the flavored tobacco, everyone continually pronouncing Proust correctly, and all the god damned tweed, Quetzalcoatl was about ready to clobber someone.
“Jesus fuck, guys,” said Quetzalcoatl, “don’t you stop? Like, ever?”
A basement full of heavy-lidded eyes turned to Quetzalcoatl.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” said Syl. “I… we don’t understand.”
“You guys honestly believe you can change the world? Just by sitting on your asses and thinking about it. Don’t you?”
“I understand,” said Phil. “He’s testing us, trying to… gauge our answer to the… inevitable questions that will be asked of us.”
“I… buddy, I don’t even remember which one you are.”
“Quinn,” said Will, “it is not about changing the world… not about turning views to match our own.”
“Rather,” said Bill, “we are trying to suss out the extraneous distractions… to pare down that viewpoint.”
“We do not need to change the world,” said Phil, “merely discover it.”
“But all you’re doing is throwing around the same bullshit ideas. Over and over and over.”
“Only if you believe that they are bullshit, Quinn. It’s all about… perception, about how one chooses to view things and his belief in that conviction.”
“Ideally,” said Will, “if you’ll pardon the pun, we are aiming to discern the hidden meaning behind life, a perspective that cannot be… disputed, at which point everyone and everything will surely fall in line.”
“OK, OK,” said Quetzalcoatl, “I think I get it now.” He stood up. “You guys are just dumb as fuck.”
Quetzalcoatl hadn’t stood in a day or so. He was having issues remaining vertical.
“Are you… all right, Quinn?”
“Just peachy, thanks. That ill-advised drop-ceiling on your stairs seems to have cleared a few cobwebs.”
“Are you sure your brain isn’t just hemorrhaging?”
“Not even a little.”
“Well,” said Bill, “if Quinn’s little charade is over… I suggest we get back to the matter at hand.”
“Christ,” said Quetzalcoatl, “you’ve got all the vision of a toaster with one setting.”
Phil, Will, Syl, Bill, and all the others in the room paused to reflect on the statement, taking in all the possible connotations.
“Guys, no. Stop that,” said Quetzalcoatl. “I was insulting you.”
Twenty-Seven: Probably Really Itchy
Doctors Meola, Ramos, and Lalas stood in a darkened lab room, crowding together around the glow of a computer monitor.
“You’re sure we can track it?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Dr. Alexi Lalas. “In fact, we’re doing that now. We’ve been doing that for the last twenty minutes. That blinking light? On the map? The one we’ve been following around with our finger? That’s 37-E.”
“Oh,” said Dr. Meola, “right, yeah. I knew that.”
“Christ. You fucking girl,” said Dr. Lalas, “I can’t believe you’re still rattled. You weren’t even mauled!”
“It was a psychological mauling. There was, you know, trauma… and stuff.”
Dr. Lalas held up his shiny new cybernetic forearm.
“You’re a fucking pansy.”
“Yes, it certainly appears so.”
The surviving interns entered the room, pushing a hand-truck laden with various weapons and the coordinating ammunition. The interns were equal parts robotic implants and bandages, both terrified and terrifying. Judy, the one with half a face, was wearing a burlap sack with eyeholes cut out over her head. There was a crude smiling mouth drawn on it with marker.
“Judy,” said Dr. Ramos, “that seems a little…”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
“OK, maybe, but why a burlap…”
“That was all I could find.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw…”
“I’m fine.”
“Why would we even have a burlap sack in a state-of-the-art gene research facility in the first place?”
“I don’t know.”
“You look ridiculous.”
“I am well aware, thanks. Fucktard.”
“That’s Dr. Fucktard to you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Judy sheepishly.
“Enough!” barked Dr. Lalas. “We started this… and we’re the only ones who can end it.”
He pumped his shotgun, the sound resonating dramatically throughout the lab.
“It’s hunting season.”
The interns were barely able to stifle their laughter.
“Seriously?” asked Dr. Ramos, raising an eyebrow. “’Hunting season?’”
“Well, yeah, I was, uh, I was just trying to, you know, fire us up…”
