Chapter 6: Evening Entertainment
At 18:00 every band in the camp vibrated to signal the end of the work day. Stephen looked down at his band instinctively: $348.33 Has Been Deposited Into Your Account From cAAmp…Thank You.. “Better than nothing,” he thought.
Stephen followed the workers in their dirty but still brightly colored coveralls toward the tents that now stood between them and the Safety Fence. Men, women, and those whose gender he couldn’t guess, began to form a line between the gauntlet of prostitute tents with their flaps open wide revealing the merchandise inside. As the groups of worker waited in line moving steadily toward the meal tent, here and there colorful coveralls stepped out of line and into the white webs.
“Ya gonna eat or step out of line, son,” asked the old man from behind him with his chuckle that Stephen now found slightly annoying.
“I’ll stay in line,” he said turning back toward the meal tent. “I’m hungry and don’t want to lose my place.”
The Deacon changed to his preacher’s voice, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..”
His sermon was interrupted by a young topless woman lying on a pillow-covered bed in the tent to his right. “For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,” said the seductive voice for all to hear.
A voice from the crowd shouted, “you heard her, Deacon. You need to comfort her with your rod and staff.” The line of workers moving toward their evening meal erupted in laughter while the Deacon’s head dropped in shame. He fought the urges to cry, lash out, or collapse into a ball. This emotional-physical-phycological trifecta was an everlasting gift from his one kiss by A.M.Y. along with the perpetual nasal dripping of blood.
Stephen switched places with the Deacon as if to protect him with his own body from the words of the prostitutes and laughter of the workers. The Deacon continued moving forward with his face cupped in his hands watching only the feet of the person in front of him. He mumbled as he walked and Stephen could only make out a few words: Shit.. Deacon.. Pay.. Great Who.. Momma.. Teach.. Fuckers.. In a few moments, he was back to his normal chuckling self, chatting away with anyone and everyone.
“One pod for free, $5 each for extras,” shouted a man standing beside the crates filled with food pods. “One pod for free, $5 each for extras.”
“There’s games to bet on later,” said the Deacon as he grabbed four food pods and held his band up to the scanner. “Most people bet food pods cause we ain’t got much of anything else to barter with.”
Stephen too grabbed four food pods, paid for them and dropped them in the cargo pockets of his coveralls. “What sort of games?”
The gruff voice of the hermaphrodite broke into the conversation, “Just a little competition between the teams,” he said bending down to look at Stephen and showing off his ample, hairy cleavage. “You know, just something to kill time before going to.. bed.”
Stephen didn’t like the way the hermaphrodite was looking at him nor the extra emphasis on the word, bed. He turned and walked back through the gauntlet of tents and into an open field between the Safety Fence and the tents.
The field looked like it had a serious ground mole problem except that the moles were as big as men. To the left and right, mounds of dirt could be seen in perfect rows heading toward the East and West perimeters of the camp. In the midst of all the freshly backfilled mounds stood one headstone. cAAmp usually left one stone like this to be the very last one to be removed. Company owners and executives would arrive and make speeches about the success of the reclamation progress, announce the location of the next cAAmp location, and reward some workers with promotions to red jumpsuits and extra pay.
Once the stone was removed, a new guard house would be built on the location to house Safety Fence Patrol Troops. The troops, armed with A.M.Y. guns, guarded the fence day and night covering the 70 mile perimeter around the CitySpace. Most of the Patrol Troop was made up of former cAAmp workers who had climbed the ranks to this desired position.
The official role of the Safety Fence Patrol Troop was to, “Protect and Defend the CitySpace from loss of resources and assist with suicide prevention.” In reality, they were charged with taking out Enders (those who attempted suicide) with a double-loaded dart before they reached the fence. A double-loaded dart from a Patrol Trooper instantly incapacitated the target and rendered permanent brain damage. The firing Trooper would then touch his or her band to the Ender’s band thus removing all digital funding. At that point, the victim became a ward of the state. Many were sent in for Recycling & Renewal immediately while others were kept alive for organ transplants and harvesting.
The suicide prevention role of a Trooper was the real reason for their existence. The unwritten, but well understood law was that no person should ever touch or even reach the fence. This wasn’t an altruistic command from the government. Rather, it was a practical, calculated retention of resources. This was because once a body touched the fence, the electrical force would destroy all valuable minerals, vitamins, and base elements within the human body making it unfit for the Recycling & Renewal process.
Suicide and attempted suicide was so common in the early days of the creation of the Cityspace that the State created the Safety Fence Patrol Troop. It was a cost effective measure that saved the Cityspace millions of dollars in resources each year. The Trooper Patrol paid for itself each year by mid-spring in savings.
In addition to the Troops, counselors were placed at each guard house. Few people took advantage of this opportunity. In many cases, the counselors had made deals with troopers to split any digital assets of an attempted Ender thus removing any motivation to genuinely help or dissuade the distressed person.
Stephen looked up above the fence and beyond the Greenspace and the first stars of the evening began to appear. Workers, still clothed in their dirty coveralls trickled into the area around the single headstone while sucking on their meal pods. The sounds of wild animals, birds, and insects could be heard deep in the ever darkening forest. Coyotes called to their pack not far beyond the fences and were answered immediately. This was followed by human laughter that sent a shiver up many spines around that cold stone. Stephen’s eyes grew wide at the sound of the laughter and he stopped mid swallow. The entire group was quiet for split second, not daring to say a word.
The Deacon spoke into the silence, “sometimes them coyotes can sound just like women crying, puppies playing, or people laughing. Ain’t no tellin what they’re up to tonight.”
Upon hearing these words, the group began to breath again and discussion continued as before. Workers of every shape, size, and color milled around discussing the games. A great light hung on one of the tall metal fence posts. It flickered in the evening twilight and grew steadily brighter illuminating the stone and the sea of color below. Other lights on the vast stretch of posts imitated this action. The inverted cones of light overlapped one another at regular intervals for as far as the eye could see both East and West. Behind the crowd, to the South, the cAAmp tent flaps moved gently in the cool autumn breeze. Above the tents, the great DoH&L towers with thousands of lit rectangles and it’s enormous ring, rose in stark contrast to the blackness above and within the Greenspace.
The Deacon pushed through the crowd and out into the open space surrounding the single stone. He scurried to the top of the stone with skill that belied his age. Once safely and steadily on top a hush came over the crowd.
“Preach it, brother,” shouted a voice from deep in the group.
A good-natured laugh rolled slowly through the crowd as the old man turned around slowly sizing up his colorful flock. His gaze fell on Stephen and he began his nightly ritual.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones,” said the Deacon to the crowd.
The same voice from the crowd shouted out again, “Every night you bury him and every day I dig him up! I’ve seen enough bones for the day, thank you very much.” The crowd shifted a little and the voice was given an elbow to the ribs.
The Deacon continued to turn stopping abruptly as he faced the North and the darkness beyond. He stretched out his arms as though he were reaching for the ends of the earth. Above him, the Milky Way cascaded into the blackness. He drew himself up to his full height taking in a deep, long, audible, breath..
“Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” shouted the old man. “Why art thou so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O great Who, I cry by day, but thou dost not answer; and by night, but I find no rest.” The old man paused, only the last chirping of dying crickets could be heard in the blackness beyond and the occasional sniffling of dripping blood among the inflicted in the crowd. With an unearthly power in his voice, he continued,
“O darkness, in thy beauty,
Why dost thou stop so soon,
Dost thou find joy in torturing,
These souls,
Letting them have light,
Letting them have sight,
Torture, torture - the short, short night.
The band that plays above,
Like specks, or snow - but bright,
You have overpowered,
Through eons you absorb,
Save for that cursed,
Loathsome, morning orb.
Come, my dark lover,
Stay back no more,
We are jealous,
Of these ones below,
Sowed in rows,
Another race,
Enveloped in thy cold embrace.
Brought into light,
With weary hands and face,
Jealous, mournful lovers - we,
Envious, of this race,
Who in the light of day,
Still sleep, still sleep,
In your embrace.”
The Deacon slowly turned back toward the crowd. The lighted fence and black Greenspace stood behind him like a thick, velvet stage curtain. The wispy, cloud-like band of stars either flowed upon his balding head or from it. Arms still outstretched as though trying to embrace the giant ring of the CitySpace and every person within. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as they reflected the lighted towers of man’s ingenuity. He began again,
“Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great,
The dead walk upright,
Eyes shine without light,
Flesh burns so bright,
No escape - no fight,
Within your garden gate.
Birds without wings,
Fingers without rings,
Castles without kings,
Harps without strings,
Life without springs.
Fallen, fallen, within your garden gate,
No escape - no fight,
Flesh burns so bright,
Eyes shine without light,
The dead walk upright,
In Babylon the great.”
The old man slowly climbed back to the ground and stared at the hushed crowd. No one dared to speak and a few wept. More coyotes or voices could be heard in the black forest beyond. A Great Horned Owl called mournfully in the night air. A few workers decided to turn in. The desire to participate in the coming events was chased from their hearts by the words of the Deacon.
“All right, all right, the sermon’s over,” growled the busty crew chief in red coveralls. “Bring out your players.”
The words of the hermaphrodite brought the crowd out of their stupor. All reflection on life, death, and darkness vanished as the crowd came back to life. Instinctively the crews grouped together by color and began talking in hushed tones.
“Okay, Bones. Whatcha got for us?” the red jumpsuit asked while facing the Blue crew.
The Blue Bones crew collectively pushed a man toward the stone. The man in the blue coveralls was not more than 30 years old. He was tall and lanky, with sandy blond hair. He turned back to his crew to plead his case but they urged him on toward the stone. He walked up to the red coveralls and wiped the blood from beneath his nose.
A fierce looking black man with broad shoulders and massive arms stepped forward toward the other two. He was wearing pink digging crew coveralls whose hems were tested to their limits by the bulging muscles underneath. His short hair glistened in the light streaming down from the pole. He smiled, bearing snow white teeth as he made eye contact with the skinny Bone man and the crew leader. Both shuddered involuntarily.
A groan issued from the crowd as the black man moved toward the stone. Men and women in the various colored work uniforms turned to each other seeking to change their original bets.
Another massive man emerged from the crowd wearing the color of the stoners and the groans grew louder. The workers on the yellow crew cheered and laughed at the despair of the others. The man was as tall as the red crew chief and built like the black digger. He had been the winner of the nightly games for months on end.
The betting continued among the crowd. A few fights broke out but were ignored as the final contestant emerged from the group.
Redressed in his white coveralls, the black man who had earlier in the day had been shot with the dart strolled out of the circle of colors. His nose was still dripping blood and his wide eyes let the crowd know that he still suffered from the effects of the dart. Stephen thought the man looked like a rabid wolf ready to destroy anything and everything in his way.
“Last call, bitches,” said the hermaphrodite placing her elegant hands high on her hips. “Place your bets and have a seat.”
The crowd continued to turn back and forth to one another exchanging food pods. Some still argued over the bets they made before the presentation of the players. The darkness above the group and in the Greenspace grew deeper. Even though the lights and fence provided ample protection, some moved to the tent side of the circle out of fear as the words of the Deacon echoed in their mind.
The leader spoke again, “that’s it. Have a seat.” He swung his A.M.Y. gun around for emphasis and almost in unison the group dropped to the ground. He turned to the four men around the stone. “Pretty simple gentlemen. You’ve been chosen or forced to represent your group. Last person who hasn’t tapped out or choked out gets tomorrow off with pay. I’ll be the referee. No throwing into the fence or killing, otherwise you get another kiss from my gun and you’ll be done. Everyone understand? Good.” He took a few steps backwards away from the stone and simply said, “go.”
The two larger men began to grab at each other while the other two stood and watched the spectacle hoping neither would win. The tall man in yellow coveralls caught the black man in pink with a powerful left hook that sent him spinning. Blood poured from the black man’s upper lip and mingled with the blood from his nose.
The tall man quickly turned to the two men watching, grabbed the one in blue coveralls placing him in a chokehold. The Bones crew representative tried to free himself, then he tried to tap out but the red coveralls pretended to be looking toward the Greenspace. The legs of the man in blue coveralls gave out and the mountain of a man in yellow dropped him to the ground.
At that same moment the giant black man with a busted lip jumped up and ran full speed into the back of the yellow coveralls knocking the wind out of him and pushing him to the ground. He sat on the rear end of the man and proceeded to launch blow after blow into his back. The yellow crew erupted and called for their man to get up or turn over. The pain was too great for him to move and so the black man who was pummeling him fell on top of him working his arms and hands around his neck. In a few moments the yellow coveralls were still in the damp evening grass around the stone. The pink work crew erupted in cheers. The only contestant remaining for him to beat was the formerly naked, skinny, black jeweler dressed in white.
The man in white who had been watching the wrestling match intently climbed upon the stone and crouched down like a panther ready to spring. The wild look in his eyes caused a chill to run up many a spine. As the large black man was freeing his arms from beneath the man in yellow coveralls the skinny black man in white lept toward the pile of flesh like a shooting star.
The man who had earlier in the day cried for his mother while sobbing in the fetal position, caught the large black man from behind wrapping his arms around his neck and his feet around his torso. The large man in pink coveralls fought furiously to free himself from the deceptively strong arms now slowly closing off his airway. He lunged backwards toward the stone slamming the nearly rabid creature into the stone.
Two ribs cracked within the small torso of the man in white from the force. Yet, he didn’t wince or cry out. His constrictor-like grip grew tighter and tighter. The man in pink coveralls slid to the ground still trying to push his opponent through the stone. The man on his back stared blankly into the distant row of lights along the safety fence. Blood streamed from the right nostrils of both black men who were now drenched with sweat in the cool night.
The red crew chief pushed his way through the crowd, “move, move, oh shit.” He crouched beside the tangled mess of the two men on the ground. “Let him go, let go, fucking let go,” he screamed at the man in white coveralls. He tried prying the arms of the little man lose. The Stoner crew leader, that Stephen had met earlier in the day, stepped forward to help but they couldn’t budge the man’s arms. They held with a supernatural strength. The Stoner turned to the group, “does anyone know his name?”
A voice from among the white coverall crew spoke out, “I think it’s Marvin. I thought he said Marvin today when he was coming back around after his shot.”
“Marvin, Marvin,” screamed the tattooed man now being helped by the other crew leaders, “Marvin, you have to let him go.”
The skinny black man dressed in white coveralls didn’t budge. His muscles remained tighter than ever, his eyes stared at the lights or somewhere beyond into the Greenspace now as black as the sky above.
“Clear,” said the hermaphrodite, “clear now!”
The men surrounding the two entangled fighters stepped back reluctantly as the strange creature raised the A.M.Y. gun and fired a dart into the side of the boa constrictor in white coveralls.
His arms immediately loosened and he rolled limply to the wet grass now staring up at the trillions of tiny specks of light cascading overhead from darkness into darkness. The larger black man’s neck tilted awkwardly and he too rolled onto the grass.
The man in white coveralls was now a prisoner in his own mind. He stared out upon the world as from a cell window in a distant tower. The second dose of Amygdala MyoYokennela shut down the primitive fight or flight response of the brain and most voluntary functions. To the outside world, he looked like a severely mentally disabled person; loss of bowel and bladder control, muscle function, drooling, constant nose bleed, and the haunting, hollow, staring eyes. Yet, within he was as he had been moments, weeks, days, years, before. His mouth ignored him as he screamed inside his mind for help. His arms rejected the commands to reach, embrace, or punch. Legs, once strong and powerful enough to run through the graveyard, received no signal to flee or kick. He watched helplessly as the workers returned to their lives. He screamed through the caverns of his brain as the men outside his immovable shell carted off the dead black man and came back for him.
Only those who had received the double injection knew the horror and they were able to tell no one. In fact, they often went mad watching in horror as they witnessed their own bodies liquified through the Renewal & Recycle program. The large black man in pink coveralls was lucky. He was already dead, his trachea crushed and ruptured in the match, he wouldn’t suffer through the living hell that Martin was about to endure.
“Fuck,” said the hermaphrodite, “call the local R & R and get them out of here.” He walked over and touched their bands to his, tapped a few things on the band and walked away toward the tents. All bands in the camp buzzed simultaneously - EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES. cAAmp 237. JEWELER AND DIGGER NEEDED IMMEDIATELY. PAY RATE 7:B
The last cAAmp bus had left shortly after the end of the work day and so Stephen found himself needing to stay the night with the rest of the crew. After what they had witnessed around the stone many found sleep hard to come by. A few were in the sleeping tent lying on their cots staring blankly into the darkness. The words of the Deacon and the visions of the “competition” danced through their minds like drunken phantoms. Many others walked about in the night air trying to rid their brains of the cruel vision of the two lifeless men in the wet grass.
Are you interested in learning more about the world Stephen lives in and what happens next? Look for this new dystopian novel, The Greenspace, available Fall 2023. Email me to be the first to know about preordering and advanced copies for review.
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