Refraction | Part 1 | Darwin's Steroids

36) Slippery Time

So, the plan is to wait for the Head Usher of Torture and grab him when he comes in, the squeeze him for information. By his neck, or maybe, his liver. It takes a while for him to show up, I goof time to get the ball rolling, because seriously what’s the hurry up and wait all about?

When he finally shows up he is accompanied by the hulking soldier who tossed me around the ballistic chamber a few days ago. The soldier is carrying a card table and the Head Usher, so neat and tidy in his green jumpsuit, is carrying a folding chair. I wait for it. The Soldier sets up the card table by the edge of the bed, and the H. U. unfolds his chair, sits down, and stares at me with his freaky, flashing red eyes. Hulking Soldier goes over to stand by the door. “Thank you Sergeant Ivanov.”. says the H.U.

Hulking Soldier looks at H.U., then at me, then back at the H. U., shrugs his shoulders, and leaves the room. He’s probably thinking the same thing I am. Hey pal, it’s your funeral. The Head Usher looks at me coolly across the faded top of the card table.

“Ask.” He says.

“Ask what?”, I ask.

“Ask questions to which you would have answers provided.”

“Do those glasses give you a headache?”

“No, they are very finely calibrated to the photoreceptors and muscular movements in my eyes. Although you see flashing, unless I perform certain deliberate motions, the information at my disposal is hidden. My view of the room is clear.”

“They give me a headache. Will you take them off?”

“If you please, but I may need them to reference something for you.”

This last he says with obvious reluctance. After a moments hesitation, he reaches up quickly, and removes the glasses from his face. He folds the glasses carefully, snaps them into a hard case, and places the case on the table in front of him. As a final act of defense against the elements he folds his hands neatly over the top of the case. Then he sits quietly, waiting, I suppose, for my next question.

I open my mouth to lay it on him, and I realize I don’t even know where to begin. I shut my mouth, then repeat the process. Drop jaw, stare stupidly, shut mouth, frown. The Head Usher actually looks a little concerned for me. It gets my guard up.

“How do I know you’ll tell me truth? So far as it goes, I can’t say I think a whole lot of the hospitality of the management.”

“You have the tools at hand.”, he reaches his left hand out and places it on the table, “Place your fingers on my wrist as though you were taking my pulse. Look closely at my eyes. If I lie, my pulse will quicken, my skin will flush, my pupils will dilate. With the technology you have inside you, you will learn to see and hear lies from across a room, even over a clear communication line. The stress in the liar’s voice will be clear to your ears.”

“Neato. I guess I have no choice to but to try it, neh?”

I move to put my fingers along the inside of his thin, brown wrist. At the very least this puts me in close range to the nerves that run along the radius and ulna. With the proper pressure they can be a fairly convincing lie detector in their own right. But the H. U. was not shitting me, even before my fingers are on his artery, I can feel his pulse as though right through the air. I place my fingers along his wrist, and the beat thrums into my hand like a drum beat.

“You have the ability to force your perceptions in many directions. In time you’ll learn to focus these skills better and better. You may surprise us all with what you are ultimately capable of.”

“How is this even remotely fucking possible?”, I ask.

“You are interlaced in every way with nanotechnology, the absolute cutting edge in the field. You have machines inside you that repair you, machines inside you that protect you, that will provide you life in places of death. You have machines inside you that have performed surgery on your very D.N.A. You represent 75 years of research and development. It is fitting that you should be the subject that received this prototype. Considering your services to the foundation, and the number of procedures you have already endured.”

The last catches me a bit off guard. I don’t like the sound of it because it smells like it leads to more question on the horizon. His pulse is steady and even, his skin and eyes reveal no traces of his having lied to me.

“May I ask you a question?.”, he asks.

I forgo the obvious.

“Sure. Can I have a beer?”

“Yes. Excuse me.”

He stands up and leaves the room. He is gone for 1 minute, 57 and three quarter seconds. He comes back with an ice cold Soireeh “C” in a bottle. Unbelievable. This is a hundred dollar bottle of beer. I pop it open and drink half of it in one long, beautiful, dancing, amber swallow. I burp gloriously. I feel better than I have since the last time I was drinking with my buddy Chuck. Chuck!

“What happened to my friend Chuck?”, I ask

“That is an extremely complicated issue.”, says the H.U.

“Well, shoot partner, I’ve got all day.”

He laughs a quick ha hah.

“Alas, Sir, I do not, I have other duties to which I must attend. Would you rather have information that concerns yourself or him?”

He was itching to get those glasses back on, you could see it all over his face.

“Humor me, do you know if he’s okay?”

“We had hoped to corral him when we picked you up, but he was abducted after being ejected from the hospital. He was taken to the desert to be murdered and disposed of by a group working contrary to our goal. He escaped, then disappeared for some time. We recently tracked a communication he made from one of the Minutemen silos in what used to be eastern Utah. We were able to maneuver one of our men into the strike team that was sent by our enemies, in hopes of subverting their attempt to murder them.”

“Must be quite a guy.”

“Like your friend Chuck, he is…truly extraordinary. I believe they will be able to escape our enemies and rejoin us.”

“Good, that’s great Head Ush…er…what is your name, my man?”

“My name is Yu, Mitsu Yu. I am at your service. We are in great debt to you.” He opens his glasses case, takes out his bizarre spectacles, unfolds them, folds them, and returns them to the case, closes it.

“Why?”, I ask.

“You have done much to further the work of this project and in particular your agreeing (!) to this final set of procedures was a brave move. You are a success. The Doctor and the General decided over lunch three days ago when we had you in the chamber. The momentum is in a phase of acceleration. We are assembling an army of men who will help us win a nearly bloodless war.”

He opens his glasses case, closes it, opens it again, strokes his finger along the glasses, closes the case. He releases an audible sigh of relief when I tell him to put them back on. He pops open the case and has the glasses on in .34 seconds. His eyes dart to and fro as the specs flash and dazzle his eyes.

“I am truly sorry, I need to attend to other matters for a few hours. I would allow you to leave, but I feel we need to further debrief you. You records indicate a significant amount of meddling with your memory pathways. After what happened in the isotank, I believe it will be beneficial to further reintroduce you to who you are, so to speak.”

“Wait, one more thing Yu, my man.”, I say.

“Yes?”

”You mentioned your goal. What is it?”

“Our goal?”, says Mitsu Yu, the former Head Usher of Torture and now Master of Mystery, “Our goal is to save the world, what else?”

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