Dead and Alive

“All of humanity united in pursuit of a glorious future.”

“The New Race wouldn’t pollute like the Old Race.”

“Every last one of them would use the type of light-bulb they were told to use,” Michael said.

“No greed, less waste, a willingness to sacrifice.”

“They’d save the polar bears,” Michael said.

Carson said, “They’d save the oceans.”

“They’d save the planet.”

“They would. They’d save the solar system.”

“The universe.”

Carson said, “And all the killing, that wasn’t Victor’s fault.”

“Monsters,” Michael said. “Those damn monsters.”

“His creations just wouldn’t stay with the program.”

“We’ve seen it in movies a thousand times.”

“It’s tragic,” Carson said. “The brilliant scientist undone.”

“Betrayed by those ungrateful, rebellious monsters.”

“He’s not only going to get off, he’s going to end up with his own reality-TV show,” Carson said.

“He’ll be on Dancing with the Stars.”

“And he’ll win.”

On the phone, the former Mrs. Helios said, “I’m hearing only half of this, but what I hear is you aren’t handling it like police detectives anymore.”

“We’re vigilantes,” Carson acknowledged.

“You want to kill him,” Erika said.

“As often as it takes to make him dead,” Carson said.

“Then we want the same thing. And we can help you, those of us here at the dump. All we ask is don’t just shoot him. Take him alive. Help us kill him the way we want to do it.”

“How do you want to do it?” Carson asked.

“We want to chain him and take him down into the dump.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“We want to make him lie faceup in a grave of garbage lined with the dead flesh of his victims.”

“I like that.”

“Some of the others want to urinate on him.”

“I can understand the impulse.”

“We wish to buckle around his neck a metal collar with a high-voltage cable attached, through which eventually we can administer to him an electric charge powerful enough to make the marrow boil in his bones.”

“Wow.”

“But not right away. After the collar, we want to bury him alive under more garbage and listen to him scream and beg for mercy until we’ve had enough of that. Then we boil his marrow.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” Carson said.

“We really have.”

“Maybe we can work together.”

Erika said, “The next time he comes to the new tank farm—”

“That’ll probably be before dawn. We think he’ll retreat to the farm from New Orleans when the Hands of Mercy burns down.”

“Mercy is going to burn down?” Erika asked with childlike wonder and a tremor of delight.

“It’s going to burn down in …” Carson glanced at Michael, who checked his watch, and she repeated what he told her: “… in eight minutes.”

“Yes,” the fourth Mrs. Helios said, “he’ll surely flee to the farm.”

“My partner and I are already on our way.”

“Meet with us at Crosswoods, at the dump, before you go to the farm,” Erika said.

“I’ll have to talk to our other partner about that. I’ll get back to you. What’s your number there?”

As Erika recited her number, Carson repeated it to Michael, and he wrote it down.

Carson terminated the call, pocketed the phone, and said, “She sounds really nice for a monster.”

CHAPTER 47

Although he despised humanity, Victor was biologically human. Although intellectually enlightened beyond the comprehension of others in the Old Race, he remained more physically like them than not. To Chameleon, Victor qualified as an approved target.

If he had not created Chameleon himself, Victor wouldn’t have known the meaning of the rippling floor. He would have thought he had imagined it or was having a transient ischemic attack.

Even now, knowing where to look, he could not easily discern Chameleon against the surface across which it moved.

On the desktop computer and on the big screen across the room, stirring, heroic visions of the New Race future continued to appear, but now Victor’s voice rose, reciting the Creed: “The universe is a sea of chaos in which random chance collides with happenstance and spins shatters of meaningless coincidence like shrapnel through our lives….”

Chameleon was wary in its approach, although it did not need to be so prudent and had not been programmed for caution, as it was virtually invisible and capable of speed. Most likely, it was being careful because this was its first hunting expedition. Once it had killed, it would become bolder.

“The purpose of the New Race is to impose order on the face of chaos, to harness the awesome destructive power of the universe and make it serve your needs, to bring meaning to a creation that has been meaningless since time immemorial….”

Victor casually backed deeper into the embrace of his U-shaped workstation.

Chameleon advanced as much as Victor retreated, and then another five feet, until it was only fifteen feet away.

It was a half-smart killing machine because its ability to blend with its environment gave it a great advantage that didn’t require it also to be truly smart. Victor’s intention was to manufacture tens of thousands of Chameleons, to release them on the day the revolution began, as backup for the brigades of New Race warriors as they began killing the Old.

“And the meaning that you will impose upon the universe is the meaning of your maker, the exaltation of my immortal name and face, the fulfillment of my vision and my every desire….”

The granite top of the workstation bumped against the back of Victor’s thighs, halting him.

Chameleon scuttled to within twelve feet and paused again. When it was still, Victor ceased to be able to see it even though he knew precisely where it stood. The ripple effect occurred only when the vicious creature remained in motion.

“Your satisfaction in the task, your every moment of pleasure, your relief from otherwise perpetual anxiety, will be achieved solely by the continuous perfect implementation of my will….”

Keeping his eyes on the spot where he’d last seen the clever mimic, Victor eased sideways, to a bank of three drawers on his left. He believed that what he needed was in the middle of the three.

Chameleon neither reproduced nor ate. For the duration of its existence, it drew upon its own substance for energy. When its weight declined from twenty-four pounds to eighteen, Chameleon weakened and died, though of course it had no awareness of its fate.

Computer models suggested that each Chameleon, released in an urban environment, would be able to kill between a thousand and fifteen hundred targets before expiring.

“Through you, Earth and everything upon it will submit to me, and as the whole of Earth serves me, so will it serve you, because I have made you and sent you forth in my name….”