The End...

Okay, this is the end... No, not the exciting conclusion (that hasn't been written in draft three yet) nor the final few written chapters I promised. I am sad to announce that those final few chapters are now discontinued. More than likely, they will never, ever see the light of day. Except... Except for this one little snippet I leave, this one final bit of the book. This is a little bit of chapter 26, an in depth explanation of the E.H.U.D. suit and the way it works.

So, why is this the end? Well, as I said in my last update, I believe I have found the central idea of the book, thematically speaking. So, I have taken that idea and crafted it into a short story that encapsulates the whole of the book, thematically speaking, into eleven pages. Yes, I've read it. Yes, I think, unlike the rest of the book, it is actually quite good. No, you can't read it; it's too personal. But what I'm going to do is write draft four now, using this story as a guide, to make what I hope will be the almost-finished version of the book (spllnig grammar need check, last) So, I leave now; physics class is starting. So long!



Chapter 26

Five minutes after Wendelferce’s announced meeting time, John joined his group in a small, brightly-lit dressing room, walled with lockers and floored with a thick spongy material.
“Looks like nature boy finally decided to get with the program.” Wendelferce gestured for John to sit with the rest of his group on a thin bench, ignoring the fact that John was already headed towards them. Once John was seated, Wendelferce walked towards one large locker and pulled out a thick black one-piece suit. he turned it around, showing off its patches of thick quilting, and then tossed it to Allen. “Okay, if each of you will please look in the lockers behind you,” he paused while Vince, Naomi, and John stood and began rooting through lockers, “you will all find one of these suits. Once you have one, put it on.”
John pulled one out and looked at it. The front was slit to allow entry, and had both zippers and buttons to keep it closed. He examined the ends of the legs and the arms, but found that rather than openings, the suit was closed off by thin socks and gloves. He easily slid inside the suit, found to his surprise that it seemed to be an exact fit for him, and closed it up. Next to him, Vince, Naomi, and Allen had gotten their suits on as well. When all four were done, they returned to their seats on the bench and stared up at Wendelferce.
Wendelferce stared back at them, smiling, and carrying a heavy-looking club. “The suits that you are wearing are the underlying layer of the most advanced piece of defensive technology ever created. The Enhanced Human Ultimate Defender is not only proven to effectively protect soldiers against most small arms fire, it has also been proven to protect its wearer from large calibers, traditional armor-piercing rounds, weight loads in excess of half a ton, and high yield explosives. The Defender is the first major piece of hardware that the E.H.U.D. program has developed that will be released in a public manner. While you all remain locked away in this hole, every man woman and child in America will know what a Defender looks like, and will feel totally at ease around anyone wearing one.”
John looked down at the padding that encased his body. It was thick and warm, but it certainly didn’t seem capable of protecting him from a child with a BB gun, much less an armor piercing round.
Almost as if he were the one capable of reading minds, Wendelferce sprang forward and brought his club down on John’s collarbone with bone-crushing force. Other than some mild pressure and the shifting of the fabric on John’s shoulder, he didn’t feel anything.
Was that supposed to hurt?
A snarl passed over Wendelferce’s face, but he was able to suppress any emotions he felt. “As you all felt, this layer, the primary cushioning layer, was able to absorb almost all of the impact of that blow. The main part of the layer is a standard Gortex weave, able to withstand some good wear and tear, with fiber-mesh quilting on the inside. But through the middle of the layer you have packets of a special gel, normally fairly sloshy, which turns tremendously solid when force is applied to it. So when the club his Johnny-boy here, it hit a brick wall, which faded out to gel, blocking and absorbing most of the force, with little impact on the man inside.”
Again he suddenly lunged, this time hitting John in the stomach, the thigh, the crotch, the shoulder. Again, nothing.
Wendelferce circled behind his charges, reached into the lockers, and handed out four skull-caps, each of the same material as the body-suit. “You’ll want these in combat, of course. And yes, there are masks that can be attached to those, but they’re currently attached to the insides of the main helmets.”
He approached another set of lockers and produced from one a complicated tangle of nylon straps and rubber tubing. After a few quick shakes, the tangle unfolded into a complicated harness, with large rubber bags attached where joints and primary muscles would be located on a person, with the tubing connecting all of the bags and criss-crossing the gaps between the harness straps.
“This is the next layer of the suit: the pneumatic sinus system.” As with the last layer of the suit, he tossed the harness to Allen and gestured for the others to get their own. While they struggled to put on their harnesses, he continued to explain the new layer. “In addition to providing protection, the Defender augments your physical abilities. The pneumatic sinus system works with the body’s own movement to pump fluid and build up pressure, which can be stored and released in the normal patterns of moving. For instance, if you bend your knee, you move the fluids in such a way that they are sucked and stored in the bladders on the back of the thigh. When you straighten the knee, an opposite suction is created in the frontal pouch, the fluid is released, and it changes position, providing a significant blast of power to the wearer’s simple, muscle-powered action. In addition to the purely mechanical suction power, the system is equipped with motion sensors that will also create suction and change the internal pressure based on perceived moves, so you don’t have to force movements; the suit works with you. C’mon, hurry, we don’t have all day!”
The E.H.U.D.s didn’t respond. They continued to put on the suits, trying to unravel the twisted material, find the right holes for their limbs, get the suits cinched in place. Finally they gave up and slipped into Wendelferce’s mind. Within a few seconds, they had a two-week training course on the suit, and were able to get it on, tightened, and attached to the inner suit.
“About time. Now take a couple minutes to get used to the movement on those.”
Naomi was the first to respond to the order. She crouched as Wendelferce had been trained to do, and felt the harness building up pressure in her thighs and buttocks. She stood slightly, and the fluid instantly shot around to bladders on the front of her thighs, forcing her legs straight and launching her into a six-foot vertical leap. She made no sound, but her companions could feel her surprise and terror as she came crashing down onto the padded floor.
“See, that’s using the pneumatics as a baseline human; if you also brought in some telekinetic forces, there’s no telling what you’d be able to do.”
Naomi smiled maddeningly and jumped into the air again, sailed towards the ceiling, brought up her arms, bounced off at an angle, flipped, twirled—
The others quickly stepped aside.
As Naomi continued her acrobatic display, Vince looked over the pumping systems on his suit, then glanced up at Wendelferce. “Does the mechanical system work, even if the electronics are offline?”
“In theory. The electronics are just supposed to be there as an additional supplement.”
Vince nodded and slowly moved his arms experimentally, watching as bladders inflated on his shoulders, and then abruptly emptied as his arms swiftly lowered, hitting his thighs with a loud smack. He raised one arm fractionally—it jerked up and his shoulder twisted awkwardly. John had to quickly close his mind to avoid feeling the pain that flooded through Vince.
Allen walked forward and helped to hold back the arm as Vince tried to lower it without further pain.
This isn’t working… we have the minds of being trained with this, but not the bodies…
Naomi stopped bouncing, Vince stopped struggling, and John opened his mind as they all felt Allen focusing on his body, on the muscles that were most affected by the pneumatic system, tweaking them, burning off some parts and rebuilding others, smoothing and altering his muscles until they were like Wendelferce’s, adapted to the shape of the harness, the forces of the suit. Once he was done with himself, Allen turned his mind to Vince’s body and began to reshape it. After only a few seconds, Vince stepped away and carefully raised his injured arm, feeling it rise in time to the patterns of the pneumatics, giving just the right amount of pull to counter the forces of the fluid’s movement, yet not enough to trigger the electronic system’s opposite reaction. Vince smiled, and then went sprawling as something rammed into his back.
From the resulting tangle of limbs, Naomi pulled herself away from Vince and playfully jumped backwards. This is fun! This almost makes all the pain worth it! With these… with these nothing can stop us!
Vince was on his feet in an instant, resting his weight on one leg, extending the other, letting the pneumatics straighten his knee, catch Naomi in the ribs, send her flying. She smashed into a set of lockers, rolled onto the floor, shot herself into the air with a powerful flick of her arm. She righted, got her legs under her, launched at Vince. He grabbed onto her arms as she shot past, jumped up and back, twisted so that his feet hit the ceiling and bounced off, finishing his flip and landing with his knees embedded in Naomi’s back.
This is wonderful! Naomi radiated joy through the room, but John felt that it was aimed specifically at Wendelferce. With these, we can kill you so much easier!
Allen shot Naomi a disapproving glare, but she purposefully ignored him.
Wendelferce sighed heavily and rounded on Naomi. “So, you’re still planning on killing me. You think that since finally got out of that rotten little hole you were in before, you can suddenly make good on your escape.” He shot out a booted heel and caught Naomi squarely in the jaw, then pulled the boot back for another blow. Naomi tried to jerk away, but Vince was still pinning her to the ground.
“You just don’t get, it do you?!” Wendelferce roared. “None of you do! Mistlethwakey has been planning this whole thing out for years! He’s left nothing to chance! The only reason you’re out of the hole and up here is because we know that we can handle you! And if you want to test yourself, go right ahead, we’re ready to shoot you down!” He dropped to one knee and grabbed Naomi’s face, twisting it so she looked up at him. “One way or another, you will all follow Mistlethwakey’s plan. You can either make it unpleasant for everybody, or you can just get with the program and learn the skills we’re trying to teach you. Is that understood?”
Before Naomi had a chance to respond, Allen stepped forward and placed a hand on Wendelferce’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Wendelferce glared up at Allen; John was sure that the pistol was about to make another appearance. But to his surprise, Wendelferce merely shrugged away from Allen’s touch, stood, and walked towards the door that led out of the room. “If you want to know how the rest of the suit works,” he said as he left, “figure the **** thing out for yourselves.”



No one moved for almost a minute, and then Vince climbed off of Naomi. “I… I’m sorry…” he mumbled.
Naomi grunted, her chin stopped bleeding, and skin covered the wound.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Allen said.
“Do what? Tell him we’re going to kill him?”
“Antagonize him. It’s cruel.”
Naomi tried to speak, but only expressed a blast of intense anger. When she was finally calm enough to find her voice, she yelled, “What they’re doing is cruel! Don’t you think that ******* deserves to sweat a little compared to what we’ve gone through?”
“If your roles were reversed, do you think he’d see it as you see it now?”
“****, yes!”
Allen sadly shook his head. “That’s exactly right. And we don’t want to be like him.”
“Maybe you don’t but—“
“Why did you kill your partner?”
“What the **** does that have to do with—“
“Why?”
Naomi took a deep breath and considered. Beside her, John and Vince paced a little and then sat on the bench. “I killed my partner,” Naomi answered, “because it’s better for her to be dead than to be what we are… to do what we have to do.”
“Wendelferce would have killed his partner, if he had had one. But he would have done it out of some misguided survival instinct, or for the sheer **** of it.”
John felt a sudden pang of guilt. Despite all of his internal struggle, all of his rationalizing, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had killed Suzanne merely because he was to afraid to die.
“The difference between you and Wendelferce,” Allen continued, “is that his motivation is self, while yours is others. He fears for himself, and he knows that, if we really tried, we could kill him, and he would lose that self. So if you prey on his deepest fear, who are you pleasing?”
Naomi didn’t answer.
“And who are you hurting?”
“Others…” she muttered.
“Exactly. You lose your motivation, you lose the little distinction that makes you a victim and him a tormentor. You become him.”
“But he has to know that we’re coming for—“
Allen raised a hand. “He knows. If you listen, you find that that’s almost all he thinks about. We don’t need to rub it in. All we need to do is bide our time.”
“And what do we do while we bide?”
Allen shrugged. “Prepare ourselves.” He gestured to two unopened sets of lockers in the room, and as one the four of them moved to investigate.
One set of lockers contained large plates of grey armor, heavy and rough, with straps on the edges and a few large magnets on the underside. Allen thought that these should be left alone for now, so John and Vince opened the other lockers and found suits similar to the first layer, but thicker and heavier, with short straps and clasps hanging from them. The suits were passed around, put on, tested. They were filled with the same gel as the under-layer, but were reinforced with stiff pads of heavy fabric. Despite this, there was little interference with movement, and the pneumatic system still worked exceptionally well.
Once they were fully dressed and the suits adjusted to fit properly, they returned to the armor plates. Vince and John spent several minutes trying to put them on, and found that attaching them to the suit was relatively easy, but finding the right order was difficult. They finally gave up and looked out through the complex until they found Wendelferce’s mind.
Soon they were back at their task, matching up the pieces against Wendelferce’s memory of them and attaching them to the proper points on the suit. When they had managed to get John completely encased in the armor save for his head, Naomi and Allen came forward and together they all got the armor on.
Then John went back to the lockers. At the top of each one was a small shelf, and on the shelf was a helmet: grey and lifeless, yet curiously human, with mournful eyes and a thick nasal ridge above a vent of some sort shaped, oddly enough, like a grossly oversized toothbrush mustache. John reached up, carefully pulled one down, and looked at it more closely.
It seemed to look back at him, to see into his eyes, behind his eyes, to know him…
A hand rested on John’s shoulder. “This is the face history will remember us by,” Allen said.
John didn’t respond. Reluctantly, he turned the helmet so that the eyes left him, ad he looked inside the helmet. There was padding all around, mostly on the facial portion, like Wendelferce had said. John tried to pull the helmet over his head, but it was too tight. He searched the outside of the helmet and found a series of gaskets which, when opened, allowed the faceplate of the helmet to disconnect and pull out on two strips of fabric. He tried to pull it on again, and this time the helmet slipped on easily. The gaskets couldn’t be easily resealed however, so John reached out with his mind and forced them closed. There was a sharp pop of pressure change, and John was sealed into the helmet.
Now he stared out through those empty eyes, seeing the world around him highlighted with artificial colors, with floating blocks of text labeling things, with a thin crosshairs floating in the center of his vision. No, not quite the center… the crosshairs wasn’t stationary; there had to be controls for it somewhere.
There weren’t any external electronics on the armor, there were no protrusion on the insides of the gloves, no movement seemed to initiate a change in the crosshairs. John experimentally extended his tongue and found a series of pressure-sensitive switches and rotational mushrooms in front of his mouth. The crosshairs moved, the whole view shifted, zoomed in and out, the text moved around wildly. John sighed, focused on the controls, felt them moving… Good, that was better.
Don’t bother touching the helmet controls…
The others put on their helmets, looked around at each other.
I don’t really like the way this looks…
Who cares about looks; if Wendelferce is right, we can do anything now…
We could do anything before…
Yes, but with these on, the scramblers have no power over us…
John blinked as the import of the thought fully dawned on him. Without their powers, they were exceptionally well-trained soldiers, but the scrambler also caused other effects in them, from bouts of pain to simple stupor; all there training was worthless then. But if they were armored like this…
As soon as everyone’s suited up, we can attack… Do it now! Vince, and especially Naomi, exuded a fierce anticipation.
John looked at Allen. Allen looked back, making no response of any kind. Again, he was insisting that the decision was John’s to make.
No… no attack, not yet… A year ago, we couldn’t make the escape, because we didn’t have these… who knows what new toys we may get in the coming years? If we wait, we get more from them…
There was a grudging acceptance from Vince, but Naomi refused to be swayed.
Besides, Mistlethwakey has had years to plan this… he knows what advantages we get from the suits; he would not give us the suits if he thought we could win; isn’t that right?
The question was aimed to Naomi, who even know was faltering… But John was staring at Allen, standing passively in his armor. Allen, who seemed to have everything planned out for the E.H.U.D.s, who trained and led them, who had gained their trust… their hearts…
Allen, who always reminded them that Mistlethwakey had planned out everything perfectly…

The End is Nigh...

Wow... Well, I've made it through most of my book, and all I have to say is... Wow. I mean, it's bad. Weird plot holes, scenes that go on forever, characters constantly speaking in cryptic, apocalyptic phrases... Wow, just wow... But hey, reading through this has given me several ideas, and pushed me in knew directions for draft four. But enough about that.

For your reading pleasure, I humbly present chapter 25 of draft III. Picking up with from the weird, cryptic, utterly incomprehensible ending of chapter 24, this one (SPOILER!) tells the story of John's first kill. Like many other things at this part of the story, it was created from whole cloth in draft III. You see, as I was working, I realized that I had to explain how ninety nine normal people where transformed into super killing machines (Lemlin was already a soldier). I had to figure that actually killing someone has to be mentally difficult; seriously, in a world with seven billion people in it, how many of them are serial killers? So I was faced with the problem of getting the Huds to draw first blood, to get them on to that slippery slope. Initially, I was going to have some nonsense about training them together with dogs, and then having them kill the dogs, but that was just a bit too long and convoluted for me. So I settled on the version as it currently stands. And the reason why they use lasers, rather than just shooting the people, is that it would be stupid to give the Huds at this point; they could turn on the guards (which would teach them to kill, but be too costly), or on themselves, to get out of killing innocent victims (see previous parenthetical aside.) So... I think it works; I'll find out after I read chapter 25 for myself. And, if this version stands in draft IV, expect to see Suzanne haunting John with the little boy earlier on.

Before I sign off and leave you to read, allow me to present something I whipped up in blender: the results of the uber tutorial I mentioned a few posts back. This is probably about five hours of work, and I'm only about a quarter of the way through the tutorial. Dang.

Anyhoo, on with the show...

And don't forget to comment!

Chapter 25

The next morning was different from the 1,825 that had come before it. There was no wake up call; John was able to let his natural cycles dictate how long he slept. When he woke up and looked around, there was no Udarian; the tiny room seemed magnificently large without the enemy sleeping in it. It was a good start to what John wished could be a normal day. He closed his eyes and pulled the covers up over his head; maybe if he spent the day like this, it would remain this way, and he wouldn’t have to do what the guards would make him do.
Eventually, however, John’s body betrayed him. After an hour of trying to fall back to sleep, he got up and marched angrily to the bathroom. When he emerged, the door of his barracks was open, and Wendelferce stood there, the dangerous smile on his face.
“Donalson! So glad you’re awake!”
“I won’t do it,” John replied.
The smile turned into a sarcastic pout. “Oh, it’s not as bad as you think. I might not have fully understood the orders; you can’t trust everything you read in my mind. Maybe it won’t actually happen.”
“The others had the same orders you did, and we all saw them.”
Wendelferce shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want to go through with it, I could always shoot you again.”
“That might be preferable.”
“Yeah, well, it really doesn’t matter, because Mistlethwakey has called everyone to meet in the great hall. He says that if everyone isn’t there in five minutes, then everybody dies.”
John sat down on the bed. “I’ll take that offer.”
“By everyone, I mean the hostages, too.”
John swung his legs onto the bed and lay down.
“Its simple, really. Either you cooperate and only a hundred people die, or you resist and two hundred die. What’ll it be?”
Only twenty six should have to die, John thought. Only twenty six and we’re all free. Is it time? Do I step up and make the decision, like Allen said? It was tempting to tell the E.H.U.D.s that now was the time, their chance to rise up and kill… But they couldn’t kill. The guards had proven that yesterday; the E.H.U.D.s had the upper hand, but they couldn’t kill the guards.
And today the guards would force them to be killers, one way or another.
With a sigh, John stood up and walked towards the door. “I won’t do it,” he repeated as he pushed past Wendelferce.
Wendelferce replied with a grin.


Once all of the E.H.U.D.s were gathered in the main room, clustered in their groups of four and standing in front of their guards, Mistlethwakey strode into the room. He looked around at the E.H.U.D.s, and then, to everyone’s surprise, actually smiled, an unguarded display of genuine pleasure.
“You… all… did… excellently yesterday,” he said slowly. “It was a beautiful thing to see you all reacting to an opportunity like that, taking advantage of your enemies’ weakness and defeating them. You’ve been trained well.”
He continued to stand for several more seconds, beaming with pride. Then, with the suddenness it had come, the smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, you made one mistake. It was a mistake I knew you’d make, and I’m quite pleased that it was made. However, it’s a mistake I don’t want repeated, a bad habit that I have to train out of you. In short, you couldn’t kill your guards. And a soldier who refuses to kill, well…” he gestured weakly with one hand.
“Of course, I can understand how you could find yourself unable to take a human life yesterday. You have to understand, killing is a deeply difficult and personal thing. It is a decision between a man and himself to make an irrevocable decision, one that will completely alter the world in some small way. You can casually kill an insect, maybe even a mammal, for you hunters out there. But it’s hard to kill a human. Because while you’re debating with yourself on weather or not to make that world-altering decision, the person you intend to kill is capable of making that same decision about you. It’s a rather disturbing experience. And most people aren’t able to make a final choice. There, indecision tends to be deadly.”
He broke of his speech and began pacing. “But we are capable of making the choice,” he said, his voice growing almost frantic, his arms gesturing expansively towards the guards. “Believe me, if we had wanted you dead yesterday, you would have been dead.”
He made a complete circuit around the room, making eye contact with each of the E.H.U.D.s as he did so. When he returned to his starting point, he spoke again, his voice subdued. “If faced with the choice, you can’t be week. To ensure that you make the right decision, I’ve devised a little exercise. When this meeting is over, each of you will return to your rooms; there you will find a partner. This partner was rescued from the federal penal system, given a rationalization for why they are here, and fitted with a small device attached to their hearts. You will be locked inside your barracks with your partner and a small laser projector. When the sensors rigged to your partner’s heart detect the light of the laser, your partner will go into cardiac arrest, and you will have officially made your first kill.”
Mistlethwakey paused and watched mutely as his audience, as one, sat on the ground, folded their arms, and filled his mind with thoughts of rebellion.
The smile returned to his face. “You see, you don’t really have a choice. If you refuse to kill your partners, the scramblers will be activated, you will all be killed and your partners will get to stay here and go through the same hell you’ve all gone through. So before you decide to be noble, think on this: is it kinder to let them live, forced to become E.H.U.D.s, or to kill them and let them be free.”
The E.H.U.D.s made no reply.
“You don’t have to decide now; return to your barracks, make friends with your partner, and then decide.”
He turned to leave, then turned back and held up one finger. “One last thing; there will be no communication between you. You don’t know this yet, but each of your barracks is built with micro scramblers in the walls which, while not powerful enough to disrupt your thought patterns and render you helpless, are more than powerful enough to cut off any errant thoughts floating through the air.”
Once more Mistlethwakey turned and left the great room. The guards remained where they still stood, and the E.H.U.D.s conversed between themselves.
We can’t do it; I’d rather die than become a murdered!
Don’t you think that’s how they’ll feel after five years of training?
No, no, no, no, no…
I won’t do it…
Attack! If we strike now, all as one, we can kill them before they turn on—
The whole point is not to kill!
Knock them out, whatever!
No… All other thoughts fell silent as Allen made his presence felt. If you all could go back five years, with what you knew now, and were given the choice to shoot your younger self, or allow them to go through this what would you do?
There was silence.
As one, the E.H.U.D.s stood and returned to their barracks.


When John reached his room, he looked inside and saw the woman he was supposed to kill, sitting on Udarian’s bed. She was young, no older than he was, blond, and incredibly frail looking, with a withered body and a seamed face.
She heard him enter the room and looked up at him, her eyes taking some time to properly focus. “Oh, I… uh, I didn’t realize there’d be mixed-sex rooms…” she trailed off and blinked a few times.
John was taken aback. She seemed so… so human. Here, there were only those like him and then the guards, the grouped prey and the predators. Even when the new guards came, they were merely more of the same. But this woman was different.
He felt his resolve weakening; he couldn’t kill her. She was just an innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time; she didn’t deserve death. On the other hand, she didn’t deserve to be an E.H.U.D.
“Um, hello?”
Allen had made it clear; the only humane thing to do would be to kill these hostages. John wished he had had someone to kill him before he had gone through the program.
“Are… are you okay?”
John blinked and realized he was standing in the room, the door closed behind him, and the woman staring up at him apprehensively. He looked down into her eyes, just staring at her for a moment…
No. No, no, no, no, no. Allen had made it clear; but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t take the choice from them. John, Allen, Naomi, Sarah, Cyd, all the others: they had been E.H.U.D.s, knew what it was like, and were now ready to embrace death if faced with it. They felt it would be right to freely grant death to these hostages. But these hostages hadn’t gone through it, hadn’t gotten the experience to make an informed decision on their own. If they chose death when faced with it, fine, but he wouldn’t kill them now and take away their chance, no matter how small, of escape, of a better life. John would sooner die than stoop to the level of a common murderer.
“You’re, uh, you’re kind of creeping me out…”
He couldn’t kill her…
John took a few steps backwards, bumped into his bed, and sat down. If he wasn’t going to kill this woman, what was he going to do here? He glanced at the door, but knew that it would be locked; once Mistlethwakey got them together in the rooms, he wouldn’t allow E.H.U.D. and hostage to escape. He looked back to the woman. She was dressed, like he was, in a white shirt, shorts, and sneakers. Despite her nervousness, she seemed fine with being here.
He wondered briefly if he should tell her what was going on, that she was going to be replacing him in this weird little prison, but then decided to find out what lies she had been told to get her here, play along with them for a while, and then ease her into the knowledge that she needed.
While the woman continued to stare at him, John reached out and dipped briefly into her mind. Her thoughts were sluggish, confused… he lingered for a moment, pulled out a few facts, and then spoke.
“Um, hello, Suzanne, my name is John. I’m, um, I’m recovering, like you are, but I’m here to serve as a counselor.”
Suzanne didn’t immediately respond, but her body language told John that she was far more relaxed. “Oh, I thought that maybe you were my roommate.”
“No, I’m just… Uh, I’ve been here for five years now, and the head guys thought it might help you to talk with a long-timer like me.” John tried to smile, but he felt guilty deceiving her like this. He wanted to scream, to tell her to run, but it was to late now. He shifted slightly, and felt something metallic hit his hand. He looked down and saw that a small metal tube had fallen into the depression that he made.
The laser projector.
“So… uh, what are we going to talk about?” Suzanne asked.
John shrugged. “Anything, really, anything that’ll help with your recovery. Why don’t you start by telling my why you’re here?”
“Oh, it’s not really a good thing…”
John felt a small pang of panic, fearing she might not talk with him. He was ready to die; all he wanted before he went was to talk wit this woman, to hear some little bit of life from the outside world… to justify his decision… to make it easier to let this woman live… to find an excuse to survive, to maybe kill her…
No, no, no, no, no, no, no… She deserved a chance. John wouldn’t become a monster—
“Well, I-I guess if it helps with my recovery; I mean, this is the first thing you do at AA, right?”
John nodded.
“Um, well, okay…” Suzanne leaned back against the wall and, in fits and starts, but growing steadily more confident, told her life’s story.
She had been introduced to marijuana in fifth grade by a boy trying to dispose of his stash before school security had discovered it. Although she didn’t particularly approve of the concept of smoking, Suzanne had enjoyed her first high, and over the next several years had tried other drugs, some legal, some not, and had ended up in a juvenile detention facility after robbing a pawn shop to pay for her habit. At age eighteen she had been released, and had fully intended to clean up her life. But she had gone back to old friends and old habits, and within six months had been caught crossing state lines with twenty-five thousand dollars worth of crystal meth. She was sentenced to fifteen years in a federal penitentiary on charges of drug trafficking. After another six months, she gave birth to a pair of twins, who were quickly taken and placed in foster care.
“And that was really all for a while,” she concluded. “It was just prison for a few years; really boring stuff.”
John sat on his bed and stared at the far wall. When Suzanne had begun talking, he had had doubts, had wondered if maybe sparing her were the right decision. After all, she had had a chance to do something with her life, and then had gone right back to drugs when she got her second chance. Didn’t John deserve to live more than she did? But then she had had her twins… John didn’t have children. If he died, there would be no one to mourn him but the last generation, and they already thought of him as dead. Suzanne, though, once she was released from this place, or somehow managed to escape, she could return to her children, try again to make a better life.
John felt a rush of pride. He wasn’t only refusing to kill her so that his conscience would remain free of murder; he was choosing to sacrifice himself so that her twins could, some day, have a mother.
After a few moments of silence, John decided to press Suzanne for more information; he wanted to know more about the woman for whom he would die. “How’d you get here,” he pointed to the floor, “when you were in prison?”
“Probably the same way you did. Oh, I’m not implying that you’re a criminal or anything, I just thought—“
“No, no it’s okay. No, I’m, uh… I’m from kind of a rich family and they paid for me to be here…”
“Oh, well, um… They called me in for a parole meeting, and there was this old guy there, named Missile-something, I forget. He was really nice. He told me that there was this kind of experimental rehab program going on, and if I volunteered for it, then I could get early release and even get custody of the twins when I’m done, no questions asked!”
It took John several seconds For John to process what she said. Mistlethwakey, she had definitely said something about him; he had gotten her into this mess. But nice? Mistlethwakey wasn’t nice; he was a heartless monster. There was something strange happening—
Her twins. She said that when she was out of this rehab program, she’d get custody of her twins. John could feel his heart sinking. Letting her stay alive, leaving her with the hope of escape and reunion, that was what was keeping her alive in John’s eyes. But she already believed she would see her children, thought it would only be a matter of a few short years, getting her life cleaned up…
He couldn’t let her live, couldn’t let her find out that she would spend the next fifteen years waiting for a false promise to be fulfilled…
John gently fingered the laser…
“Are you okay?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah. So, um, is there anything else you want to talk about? It’s good to talk, find out about each other, get to understand each other. It’ll help with your recovery!” John tried to smile. He had to stall, had to keep her alive, had to make a decision—
The next few hours were spent simply talking. John told Suzanne a little about himself; she told him about her family. He talked about his hobbies, she talked about her favorite movies, her childhood pets, his favorite sports teams, religion, ice cream, politics, anything and everything.
Finally she yawned and leaned back on the bed. “Wow, um, do you know what time it is?”
“No. They don’t believe in clocks around here; there’s no way to know what time it is. It helps to, uh, break use habits. You know, using at a certain time or—“
“Okay, yeah. So, um, do you know what time is lights out around here?”
“You… you can go to sleep whenever you want. I’ll, uh, I’ll just stay here and, and…”
Suzanne was already reclining on the bed. Before John could even finish his sentence, she was asleep.
She looked peaceful while she slept; there was no prison, no E.H.U.D. program, no twins. Just her. John reached down and impulsively picked up the laser projector. He tossed it absentmindedly from hand to hand and stared at Suzanne. What would be better… what choice to make…
He could always tell her the truth, wake her up and tell her that she could either die here, as herself, or live on as a subject, become twisted, lose whatever humanity she had.
Just like me, just like me… Will I hold onto my humanity? This is my test, right here… kill or be killed… be me…
John leaned against the wall and watched Suzanne for what felt like hours, endlessly debating with himself. What if he was the only person to make the kill? What if he was the only one left in the new batch of E.H.U.D.s?
That wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen. Lemlin had a daughter, didn’t he? And he was already a soldier in Afghanistan. If anyone could kill, he could. He would do it, would survive to get back to his daughter.
He would kill to protect what was his.
But what about me? What do I have? What would I kill for? What could I kill for? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…
John tossed the projector up in the air and caught it. If I can’t kill her, I die. If I can’t kill for something, I have to die for something. For what, for what, for what, for what…
The bed made no sound as John stood, the floor no sound as he walked, Suzanne no sound as he pulled back the shirt near her shoulder, saw a little plastic square glued to her chest. In the middle of the square was a little metallic dot; every time Suzanne breathed it sparkled a different color as the light on it changed. It refracted a brief burst of red light, settled, and remained still.
John stumbled away from the bed where Suzanne lay. He hit the door, felt around until his hand closed around the handle, turned it. He walked down the empty hall, his legs shaking. He didn’t see anyone; maybe there was no one there, or maybe he couldn’t see beyond Suzanne, beyond the peace on her face, the hope for the twins…
When he got to the central room, John realized he was not alone. There, sitting along the wall, was Allen, a somber expression on his face.
The world became fuzzy as tears filled John’s eyes. “You *******,” he muttered.
Allen dropped his gaze.
John walked into the room, stumbled to a wall, slumped to the ground, pulled himself into a ball, cried.
All he could do was cry. He had done it, had sold himself to Mistlethwakey, had made himself an E.H.U.D. in soul as well as body.
Eventually, he fell asleep…
Woke up hours later, screaming “Suzanne!”
He blinked, looked around; there were six others in the room now, all lying on the ground or sitting along the walls… all crying, weeping, letting it all out… they faded…
John woke again, dreams of Suzanne fleeing in the light of open eyes. Over thirty E.H.U.D.s now. John opened his mind, felt the whole of the pain and grief, felt the lives of those now lost; their names, their crimes, the lies they were told, the truths, the choices, the indignation… the death…
After what felt like days, all but one of them had committed themselves. They all sat, not talking, not eating, not moving, living a mental existence, losing themselves in each other’s minds, caught up in their own self-loathing. They tried to rationalize it; they didn’t really do it, all they had done was shine a light. If the partner, the victim, had happened t die, what of it? It wasn’t their fault, wasn’t their fault…
Eventually, one final person stumbled into the room, her feet slapping loudly against the cold concrete. As one, they absorbed her mind into their own; Cyd, Cyd the proud, Cyd the fierce, Cyd, always ready for a fight.
Cyd had held out, had refused to kill longer than the others, had retained her humanity the longest.
She joined the group, lay down, slept. The group tired, the group slept…
As one the group awoke screaming, a hundred still faces flashing through their minds, a hundred names lost, a hundred voices silenced…
Later, more footsteps. The guards, two at a time, carrying bodies through the room, in through one door, out through the other. Mistlethwakey, striding in, beaming at his charges.
“Good job. I have to say, I’m proud of you. I didn’t believe that all of you could do this.” He suddenly clapped his hands. “But break’s over; God knows you’ve had enough of a pity party. Training continues!”
He left, the guards came in. The E.H.U.D.s were divided, sent off to different parts of the complex. John followed Allen, followed Naomi, Vince, Wendelferce.
Wendelferce glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Saw your partner, Donalson. ****, she looked nice. You have a good time with her?”
John ignored him. There was nothing he could do, not yet. He had to wait, had to wait, had to wait…


They trained.
They became more than what they were, but also less. They learned to harness their thoughts, to function perfectly as a single unit, to know the layout of a whole maze by seeing through other’s eyes. They learned the layout of their bodies, how the cells lived, worked died. At various times the guards would beat them, injure them, leave them to heal themselves. Eventually, the guards couldn’t do enough to them, so they were given over to packs of starving dogs, ripped and torn, forced to kill and heal…
As the first year of this training went on, they pulled in on themselves, living in each other’s minds, losing their selves, burying their guilt and shame in the single mass of simmering rage that was the E.H.U.D. Whatever the guards did to one of them, they could not hurt the E.H.U.D. Whatever test they gave it, the E.H.U.D. succeeded.
The year ended, the old guards returned. The first day back, the guards gathered the E.H.U.D. in the main room and drugged it. It awoke in a new place, another concrete room. It was alone, it explored. It found a vast empty structure, much more elaborate than its home, its birthplace. Here there were vast kitchens, vehicle bays, libraries, workshops, training rooms. And finally, at the end of one long, dull hallway… an open door.
A small part of the E.H.U.D., a tall thin male with glasses, found itself outside, exploring this new place. There were trees everywhere, vines and bushes between them, dead leaves on the ground, steep hills and, far beyond, at the edge of sight, mountains.
As one being, the E.H.U.D. wept. At long last, they had escaped their prison, had found the outside… only to realize that they were merely in another prison.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The member of the E.H.U.D., the man… John… turned and saw two guards, Udarian and Wendelferce, leaning against a tree. They were both unarmed, defenseless, easy prey—
No, not time…can’t kill them… they still have power, power Mistlethwakey would use…
Wendelferce pushed away from the tree and approached John. “So, what’s it feel like to be out here, huh? You thinking of running? Maybe you can get back to Philly, maybe find what’s-her-name.”
No, can’t go, can’t leave—
A pistol appeared, as if from nowhere, and Wendelferce blasted open John’s kneecap. “Don’t you ever do that in my head again, do you understand?” he hissed.
John looked into Wendelferce’s eyes for a moment as his ligaments tightened, the patella was pulled back into place, and the skin grew over the wound. Slowly, he nodded.
“Good.” He looked at John for a moment, then moved closer, yelling. “The rest of you in there? The one’s in my group? I know you can here me! I want you to meet me in fifteen minutes! See me there!” He stepped around John and walked back into the new structure.
John glanced up at Udarian, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me; I’m just here for security. Mistlethwakey tells them what to do now.”
John’s mind floated behind him, touched Wendelferce, found where he was going, where his squad was supposed to meet him.
Somewhere else, far in the bowels of the structure, three nodes of the E.H.U.D. moved off to rendezvous with their task master.
Soon, other nodes were meeting with the guards, were being gathered to points near Wendelferce’s destination.
All to meet in fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes…
John, and by extension the E.H.U.D., felt a thrill of excitement. Fifteen minutes to be outside, to explore, to feel the joys of the sun on the skin.
Ignoring the presence of Udarian, John quickly stripped off his clothes and glasses and stood, legs spread and arms extended, beneath the sun. he tilted his head back, looked up into the bubble of fire that burned the earth, felt his eyes contract, strain, start to burn. Proteins from elsewhere in the body were broken down, converted to energy. Even some of the sun’s own energy was used. The energy was moved, manipulated, formed into matter in the burned pupil. As the pupil warped and reformed, other colors could be seen in the blinding white of the sun; brilliant greens; sharp, precise blues; disturbing, unearthly violets.
Ten minutes gone… Time’s now, meet now… can’t be late…
With great reluctance, the E.H.U.D. turned its attention to other matters, relaxed, broke up into twenty five smaller beings.
John, still standing under the sun, closed his eyes and felt around through the layer of rotting leaves for his clothes. He found them, put them on, walked back to the structure, back to the new place of enslavement.
It was tempting to run, to escape into the great wilderness…
But then another would be found, someone to take his place, to make the full compliment of one hundred. John had already made his sacrifice, had killed Suzanne and condemned himself to a life here, under Mistlethwakey’s rule, selling his soul piece by piece so other’s wouldn’t have to. He couldn’t escape; this was his place now.
But you can escape… you decide the time…
It was strange to feel a voice coming from one identifiable person, to know that the voice was meant only for one person.
No, Allen, no… I can’t decide… I won’t decide… I made the same choice everyone else did; I put myself back here… I can’t lead… but even if I could, now is not the time… It’ll never be the time…

Bob

Okay, more of teh updatez! First, a shout-out to my brother, who is now sixteen. WOOT. Second, teh updatez for the book: I've gone through and actually read part of it now, and have to say I've found many issues. There will now be a re-write and a general streamlining, and at least two subplots will be cut. One, I'm happy about, but the other will be sorely missed... Third: Next week, I will publish the next chapter of the book, and will continue to publish until I get to the last completed chapter of draft three, even though I am currently going back and starting draft 4.

And last but certainly not least, fourth: Bob! Continuing from my little video last time, I have further refined Bob's mesh, and have even brought him into the world with me. Please note: This is essentially an all new Bob, with a completely different skeleton: Although you can't see it in the video, he has a complete spine, and can bend at the torso and neck. Unfortunately, I built him from the head down, rather than the crotch up, so he can't bend over; he can only levitate his body in the air. Not fun. And before I forget, sorry about the poor video quality; I had my sister filming freehand, rather than with a tripod, so there's a noticeable shake. I was going to re-film it, but I just couldn't wait :)

Anyho, (There it is again, that anyhoo...) Have a good week, enjoy your extra-short night tonight, special thanks to reader for ACK for commenting, and please, PLEASE leave comments of your own. Thank you.

An Actual Update

Okay, some actual updates this time... Well, I might have said in the last post (can't remember now...) that I was going through and reading the book because I couldn't remember what was going on... Well, I started to, but to be honest, the beginning was pretty bad. No, it was downright unreadable. So once again, I began rewriting. This time, I really hope that I only need to do the first two chapters (in addition to the other edits I may already have mentioned). The new beginning will be much slower, with John waking from the coma sporadically over a few weeks, being much weaker and thinner (in accordance with his hudness, as per chapter... 20, I think...) and having a different intro to his family and Sky Crest. Also, the intro of the presidents may be moved up...

Other than that...

Let's see... Today I gave a speech on action-figure customization in speech class... lots of fun there...

Oh, yeah, the video at the top! Well, I've recently gotten into 3D animation using Blender, and that is Bob, my own original creation! I built him up from a single cube, rigged him, and then animated him. What fun! I was originally going to make several short videos of the walk from different angles and then run them all together, but unfortunately didn't save my work, so all of his posing is lost... But I'm moving on, and will soon be embarking on a hugely complex tutorial that will teach me all the basics, and several of the advanceds... wow, made up a word there... of modeling, rigging and animation. With a little bit of luck, I'll soon be ready for an animated E.H.U.D. trailer. What fun! And of course, I still need to work on the book... haven't added anything in almost a week...

Oh, and as for the book, specifically the rather strange ending of the last chapter... Yeah, you're going to have to wait a while to find out how that ends. Sorry...

Anyhoo, signing off... Bye!

No update...

This is... a downdate, rather than an update. It's an update to say that there is no update...

The book has taken a minor backseat, as I simply don't have time for it right now. I have school, church, a new toy I'm designing, teaching myself 3d animation... lots of stuff...

Anyhoo, real updates should come soon, but probably not on the book, as I'm at a point where I have to go and revise things so that the story can move forward, so I have to make fixes before I finish the thing...

Now, back to my physics homework...


Please, someone comment...

Trudging On...

Stephen King has been quoted as saying that the first draft of a work should be the longest, and that it should be trimmed down from there.

I ignored that advice when writing, however. My first draft was a little over 27,000 words long or, in paperback terms, ~108 pages. Not really a science fiction epic. But, for the most part, the characters and story were there.

The second draft, which fixed some plot holes and expanded on some characterization, came in at about 54,500 words, or 218 pages. Almost half as long. But it still wasn't good enough.

Now, with draft three, I have 176,700 words, or slightly over 700 pages. And I'm not even done yet.

Sometime in the second draft, I considered writing a companion piece, Descent into Sheol, a short story collection that would flesh out this book and the next one. In the end, however, I Incorporated most of the stories into this book.

Why am I telling you all this?

No clue!

Okay, updates: I'm currently near the end of the flashback. The E.H.U.D.s have gone through the Gaza war, and we're getting to the point where John kills the little boy. After that, there is an *SPOILER!* E.H.U.D. insurrection, in which we get to Shaun's memory of John being burned by Mistlethwakey. Then, thankfully, the flashback is over, and we return to the core story. In previous drafts, John *SPOILER!* awakes in an E.H.U.D. safe house, gathers an army, confronts Mistlethwakey, and hurtles towards an abrupt end, with a little coda saying what happened to Edgar. Now, however, we get (this is all merely planned, not written, mind you): a confrontation with Edgar; a confrontation with Mistlethwakey; a continuing plot in which Rachel gathers allies and supplies; a resolution of Edgar and Amanda's relationship, ending with Amanda taking Ethan and going to live with the E.H.U.D.s (!); a reuniting with Frank, in which he helps to establish a new social order, along with the E.H.U.D.s; more plot about the civil war; and finally, a moment for all of the E.H.U.D.s introduced in the flashbacks to shine! Except for Merv, Allen, and Maria, all of whom are dead. Or are they?

After that, I need to go back, remove a few little plot threads, including the little case Mistlethwakey gave Edgar (I have changes in mind for that plot later in the book) and the insertion of Dr. Frease as the Latterndale family physician. (PLOT TWIST!)

And now that that rant's over, a brief intro to Chapter 24: We learn how the 'huds get some of their powers, we get introduced to Shaun, we... Aw, just read it yourself :)



Chapter 24

John woke up and rolled to his left, looking blearily at the wall. There were scratches there, carved with his mind, covering most of the wall, starting at the ceiling and working there way down towards where John lay. He yawned, stretched, and reached out his mind, scratching a new mark into the painted concrete. He swept his eyes over the scratches again, counting up the orderly clusters of marks, adding them, coming out with a sum: 1,825. 1,825 little scratches. As best as he could figure, there was one for each day that he had been imprisoned here. There was some confusion, however; he hadn’t started this little calendar until he had been imprisoned for nearly two years, and he had had to guess his way backwards. But it was the closest thing he had to a sense of time, so he would have to use it. He counted up the scratches again, and divided the sum by three hundred and sixty-five.
Five. Five groups of three hundred and sixty-five. Five years.
John rolled onto his back and stared in disgust at the ceiling. Half a decade laying in this bed, staring at this ceiling… A spark of dark humor flicked through his mind. Half a decade was an important anniversary. Today needed to be immortalized; he would have to do something to make this day memorable.
To his right, Udarian suddenly snorted loudly and coughed several times, then returned to his usual ordered snoring.
Well, John thought, there was a start.
He relaxed his body, stretched out his mind, felt around the room and found Udarian. Once this action would have been exhausting, would have left him gasping for breath and unable to move. But now his mind flowed easily, nearly instantly plunging into Udarian’s mind, carefully avoiding the confusing, roiling mass of turbulent dreams, bypassing the active nerves that controlled the body, found the subconscious nerves, the controls of involuntary muscles. One by one he checked them and finally found the nerve he wanted. There was a pulse of power, a brief alteration in the impulses moving through the nerve, and Udarian’s bowels unclenched.
John smiled to himself, proud of the mischief he had caused, and then created a small sphere of energy around his head, a little balloon of fresh air, safe from the smell filling the small room.
There were at least twenty minutes left before the lights turned on overhead, so John decided to get a few more minutes of sleep. Unfortunately, he found that it was impossible to maintain his sphere of air while he slept. Several times he found himself drifting off to sleep, only to be abruptly woken by Udarian’s stench entering his space.
So instead of sleeping, John lay back and let his mind drift through the last five years, remembering the things he had learned, the changes he had undergone.
The most obvious change, the change that had come to all of the E.H.U.D.s once they began to use their powers on a consistent basis, was their permanent gauntness. It seemed that no matter how much they ate--and for the past three and a half years, their meal sizes had expanded to incredible proportions—the always remained thin, malnourished looking. The doctors explained to them that using their powers took energy, and that constant use of their powers would cause a constant drain. Extra calories were used almost immediately; stored fat was always burned away swiftly. Despite this use of energy, however, the E.H.U.D.s were all heavily muscled, honed to physical perfection by their training. This left their muscles pressed tightly against their skin, their veins tracing bold, protuberant patterns across their sleek bodies. The overall appearance the E.H.U.D.s had was one of alieness, of inhuman strangeness that set them even further apart from their guards. More than once, Mistlethwakey had been overheard commenting on it. “**** ‘huds,” he would sometimes mutter to the guards, “They don’t even look human anymore. My God, what have we made here?”
Some of the E.H.U.D.s took these comments to mean that Mistlethwakey’s will was weakening, that any day now he might finally snap, leaving the E.H.U.D.s with an opening to take their revenge. Several times they had come to Allen, tried to convince him that the time had come. But each time Allen urged caution, insisted instead that they continue to learn new skills, to prepare for the eventual day of their deliverance.
Learning and preparing was just what they did.
Soon after Allen started his daily training sessions, a breakthrough occurred; a fundamental change in the E.H.U.D.s’ abilities. The breakthrough was not made by anyone person, but as the E.H.U.D.s as a whole: they found that they could carry on silent discussions using their powers.
Allen had taught them all how to open their minds, how to hear the thoughts of others, and had asked them all to continue to practice their new form of listening while he gave a lecture on the forces behind modern warfare. He was nearing the end of his speech when John suddenly noticed that a point that he had been meaning to ask Allen to clarify had been silently explained, directly in his mind. He refocused his mind, focusing more now on the thoughts that he was perceiving rather than on Allen’s voice, and realized that not only was the question he meant to ask shared across several minds, it was not even Allen’s mind that had provided the answer. John had picked up on someone’s thoughts, helped to broadcast them to the group, and had sensed a reply from someone else.
John shifted his focus again, this time not on the thoughts he could hear around him, but on a single, simple command: Raise your right arm.
He thought hard for several seconds, putting all his concentration onto those four words. Then he relaxed and looked around at the group. Some twenty people, evenly spaced throughout the group, had abruptly raised their right arms.
“Yes, what is it?” Allen asked, interrupting the lecture and lowering his own half-raised arm.
“I—I don’t know,” said Maria, who was sitting closest to Allen. “I just thought I should raise my arm.”
Allen studied her for a moment, lost in though. John could hear the thought to raise his arm echoing back at him from Allen’s mind. Finally Allen said, without taking his eyes off of Maria, “No one say a word. If you have your hand up for a legitimate question, I want you to focus on the word ‘no.’ But if you put it up for no rational reason, you just felt the urge, I want you to focus on ‘yes.’ The rest of you, keep focusing on getting reading, see if you notice anything.”
The group fell silent; along the walls, the guards stared in interest at their charges.
“****!” Cyd exclaimed. “I can hear them! I can actually hear them!”
Allen chuckled. “Cyd, think really hard about a simple question, something everyone should be able to answer. Everyone, focus on Cyd. After fifteen seconds, Cyd, you open your mind, the rest of you focus on an answer. Go.”
John shut his eyes and relaxed, hearing the jumbled maelstrom around him grow dim, changing from a cacophony to a single word, repeated endlessly: Cyd, Cyd, Cyd, Cyd…
Soon, another thought began to enter the chanting, emanating from the place where he could feel Cyd’s presence: Why did the chicken cross the road?
“Aaaaaand… Switch!”
John pulled his awareness back into himself and focused on a single sentence, visualizing the words as print in his head: To get to the other side…
Cyd laughed loudly. “Holy ****, that’s amazing! Let’s do it again!”
“No, no,” Allen called, speaking loudly so that he could be heard loudly over the excited rumble that filled the room. “That’s enough practice for one day! You all need to make sure you eat before we switch back to regular training!”
“**** regular training!” someone yelled from the back of the group. John had the odd impression that it was one of the guards who said this.
“No,” Allen repeated firmly. “You’ve all had a little taste of what’s possible now: telepathy. And I have to admit, even though I thought something like this might be possible, I didn’t think we’d get it quite so fast. We all need to spend a night with it, get our heads wrapped around it, think up possible uses for it, training exercises we can do to get better.” He paused and took a deep breath. “We have communications now; our own little network. This is definitely something we need to improve, go slowly and steadily on. So tonight, just think about it. Try not to use it, just get used to it. And remember: do your exercises tonight. Find your ten closest cellmates and try to spend a few minutes in each of their heads.” He smirked. “But if you happen to get some cross talk, well, I guess it’s no big deal. Okay?”
All of the E.H.U.D.s, and a few bored guards, cheered at Allen’s words.
The group formal group broke up then and dissolved into smaller gatherings, filled with talking and eating. Minutes later, Mistlethwakey entered the room and ordered them off to their daily combat training sessions. They spent the next few hours sparring, trying their best to knock down their opponents; but they were all to evenly matched. John felt, deep in the pit of his stomach, that this simple training couldn’t last forever; something would change soon.
After the training they were off to bed. John lay awake for hours, exhausted but deeply interested in the thoughts he could hear emanating from the rooms around him. There were memories of old houses, friends long gone, trapped in the outside world… at one point John picked up on an erotic fantasy, but he was fairly certain that that was accidentally picked up from one of the guards who didn’t realize he wasn’t even safe in his own head anymore.
Eventually, all of the other minds drifted off, and John was able to sleep… although his dreams were sometimes filled with images that he knew weren’t from his mind.
When the next day’s basic exercises were done, the E.H.U.D.s eagerly gathered around Allen to not quite literally share their thoughts with him regarding their new from of communication.
Allen sat quietly, waiting for all of his pupils to settle down. When they had, he smiled mischievously and said, “I know you’re all desperate to tell me about last night, and about application ideas—“
He was interrupted by excited chatter from the E.H.U.D.s. He raised his hands and calmly waited for them to settle again.
“Unfortunately, I have a very interesting lecture to give today, so discussion will have to wait.” There was another uproar from the E.H.U.D.s, and this time a few guards even joined in.
Allen spoke, raising his voice over the roar of his less than captive audience. “In the nineteen forty’s, Russia, then known as the Soviet Union was fighting Nazi Germany and loosing quite badly! Now, Russia had several weaknesses, and yet-“
His words were drowned out by a chant that had started amongst the guards and had moved on to the E.H.U.D.s. “TP!” they shouted again and again. “TP!”
“Okay, okay!” Allen yelled in good-natured acquiescence. “Telepathy! We’ll talk about telepathy!”
His audience cheered and then fell silent.
“First off: how many of you were able to communicate with each other? And I don’t just mean passively sensing thoughts and emotions; I mean a conscious exchange of ideas.”
Nearly all of the E.H.U.D.s raised their hands. “Impressive. Okay, you can put your hands down now. Second off: how man-- Yes, Talan?”
Everyone turned to look at Talan, one of the two MIT students, who sat with his arm raised in the middle of the group. Once acknowledged by Allen, Talan lowered his arm and spoke. “This telepathy thing is great and everything, but it’s not really practical in a combat situation.”
“How so?”
“It’s all passive. We scan each other’s minds, hoping that someone will talk. It’s like broadcasting something on a radio, waiting for a response, and then broadcasting a reply, hoping someone will pick up on it. Well, it’s not even really broadcasting. We don’t send anything; we just hope others pick up what we have laying around. In a combat situation, we’d all be too busy worrying about staying alive to be scanning through for new radio updates.”
“Do you have a solution in mind?”
Talan paused for a moment; he obviously hadn’t thought this far ahead. “Well,” he eventually mumbled, “if we have telekinesis…”
“Speak up please, so everyone can hear you.”
Talan began again. “We’re already telekinetic; we can manipulate matter with our minds. Matter is nothing more than energy vibrating at certain wavelengths, so in theory direct energy manipulation may be possible. We already know it’s possible to pick up on other people’s brainwaves, so sensing energy is fully possible. All of that put together, it might be possible to actually send energy bursts, the way we send objects, directly into people’s minds. That way, if we’re in combat and someone needs to talk, they can send directly to whoever needs to hear them, rather than the whole squad focusing on everybody.” Talan finished, remained silent for a moment, and then nodded.
Allen returned the nod, and then looked around his audience. “That… that not only neatly encapsulated our problem; it also added a neat solution.” He locked eyes with Talan and raised one hand in an imitation salute. “Good job. Now then, does anyone want to try to implement that?” No one answered. “No one? Alright, exercise time. I want everyone to pair up and try to talk. No passive scanning either. Talk, don’t listen. If you do this right, the only thing you’ll be able to hear is what your partner is actively trying to tell you. Go.” Allen clapped his hands, and the E.H.U.D.s sprang into motion.
There was a moment of confusion as everyone split off into pairs. John stood silently near another bunch of wallflowers, waiting for the tumult to die down so that they could partner up with the remaining ‘huds. He was just starting to actively look for a partner when he noticed Vince coming towards him. That was a sign to take action.
It wasn’t that John didn’t like Vince, it was just that Vince was… enthusiastic. He was one of those people who was always ready, always ready to throw himself into a project. Someone who was too eternally optimistic for John to stand for more than a few minutes.
John looked around wildly and noticed that Naomi currently had no partner. Before anyone else had a chance to take her, John had her by the arm and was dragging her towards one corner of the room. “C’mon, we can practice over here.”
Naomi sighed dramatically. “And what makes you think I want to do this with you?”
“Because it beats Vince for me or Cyd for you.”
Naomi didn’t respond.
They spent the next half-hour sitting across from each other, their eyes closed. Again and again, John constructed simple messages and tried to project them into Naomi’s mind while she, presumably, did the same. Little progress was made. John had no idea what he was doing. He tried alternately to focus on his thoughts and to not focus on them, to think of them as waves of energy flowing out of his body or to think of them as physical objects to be hurled across the room. This last met with some semblance of success: Naomi yelled and fell over backwards as some invisible force smashed into her head.
Eventually they had to give up. Mistlethwakey entered the room, and the E.H.U.D.s got up to return to their regular training.
The next day, after a brief restating of the instructions by Allen, they continued to try active communication.
Some time after they had started on their fourth day of communication attempts, John heard—or felt, rather—a message appearing in his head: Everyone, join in the circle…
He opened his eyes and looked at Naomi, whose own eyes were wide with excitement. “Someone did it,” she whispered.
Around the room the E.H.U.D.s stood and moved to cluster around Allen, who had been partnered with Vince. Vince was happier than John had ever seen him before.
“We have had a breakthrough, ladies and gentlemen!” Allen called out. “Vince has done it, after only four days! We now have an active telepathic communication system! Say a few words, Vince.”
“Well, I—“
“I didn’t actually mean say.”
“Oh, oh yeah! Um…” Vince stood straighter and then relaxed, his chest deflating and his shoulders sagging. Telepathy… a voice seemed to say in everyone’s heads. A year ago I didn’t believe in TP… But now I have it…
“Wow,” Naomi breathed.
“Yeah,” John replied.
No one else had anything to say.
“Okay,” Allen said, breaking the awed silence and slapping Vince on the back. “We have TP. And, in theory, Vince can impart memories of how he did it into each of your minds, giving us all TP. So the next step in our breakout is to all learn this skill. Is everyone with me on this?”
The E.H.U.D.s cheered enthusiastically.
“Good. Then I suggest you all sit down and start focusing your minds on Vince. Vince, you sit down and push out your thoughts and methods on everyone else.”
The rest of the day was spent learning at the feet of Vince. He sent out thoughts and memories, some half-formed but others disturbingly clear, of how he was able to telepathically transmit, of how he had learned the skill and of how he thought the processes might work. By the time that regular training commenced that day John could, with enough focus, transmit simple feelings and images to those around him.
That night none of the E.H.U.D.s could sleep: they were too busy sending their thoughts into other’s minds…
The practice continued for several more days, and after a week the E.H.U.D.s had ceased verbal communication altogether. Whenever they had a need to talk, they just spoke into each other’s minds. If they had to speak to one of the guards, they did likewise.
So it came as some surprise to John when, after several weeks of near silence, Naomi accosted him in the hall and spoke. “We need to talk. Verbally, not telepathically.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t trust the privacy of my own mind.” She glanced around nervously and then grabbed John’s arm. “And I can’t trust this hall either. C’mon, we’ll go to your room.”
She dragged him along the hall, pushing him into his barracks chamber and then into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. “Here.”
John took a deep breath and sat down on the toilet. Why here?
“I already told you! Use your words!” She pulled aside the shower curtain, flipped down the small bench mounted on the wall, and sat down. “We have to hurry, before someone finds us. I’ve been practicing something with Cyd and Sarah, a way to sort of fog our minds, a way to hide thoughts and make them harder to find. A mind block, a way so some of us can have some secrets from the others.”
“And why are you keeping that a secret?”
“We’re not! As soon as we get it perfected, we’re going to share it with the group. But right now I have to share it with you, because I trust you and there’s something I have to tell you!”
“If it’s so important, just tell me. And besides, if it’s important, we shouldn’t say it out loud; the guards can hear.”
“I’m not worried about the guards hearing.”
John didn’t know what to say. Naomi’s simple statement completely changed his current mindset. He trusted her, respected her; if she thought that there was something that the other E.H.U.D.s shouldn’t know about… Another shift in mindsets: for the past three and a half years, there had been two types of people in the world. E.H.U.D.s and guards, friends and enemies. The E.H.U.D.s were family, closer than family: they could go inside John’s mind, go to the very core of who he was.
But if Naomi thought she couldn’t trust one…
“Who is it?” John asked.
“Not yet! We can’t let this get out; let me show you the thought blocker first.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then sat still for a few moments.
John felt part of her entering him, depositing her memories over his own: Cyd and Sarah, staring at him, then a fractured view of Naomi seen form their eyes, repeated, back and forth infinitely, thoughts reading thoughts reading thoughts reading thoughts—something cutting off the flow, a difference, the mind slipping and patterns shifting and—
“Okay, I’ve got it,” John said breathlessly, his mind trying to accept what he had just been shown. The thoughts coalesced, a coherent practice emerged, along with the memory of hours spent perfecting it. “Test: I’m thinking of a number.”
Naomi’s eyelids flickered. “Seven?” she ventured.
John chuckled. Not even close.
Yes, that’s right, it’s safe for this now… just keep all of this lock away…
Yes…
It’s… It’s… Fear, confusion, not sure if she should say this… I don’t trust Allen…
Relief, humor, disbelief… Allen? Seriously? You don’t trust him?
No, I don’t…
Is this another one of those ‘he’s to smart to be an electrician’ things?
On our first day, when everyone had no idea what was going on, if we would even live, he was calm… he seemed to know that nothing bad would happen… The whole course of this program, he’s known about every little thing: the scramblers, the possibility of telekinesis—
Which any reasonably intelligent person could have figured out—
He never makes waves with the guards, he didn’t make it a big deal when he got powers like the rest of us did—
He’s teaching us to fight! He’s giving us the tools we need to escape!
He’s forging us into a little army, supposedly to escape, but the guards don’t care! He teaches us new and exciting ways to use our powers, ways that make us superior soldiers… meanwhile, he fills our heads with dreams of escape, but if anyone tries to do anything to buck the system, he just tells us to hold tight!
So what, you think he’s a plant?
We’re not the first E.H.U.D.s, you know that… the army had some of their own—
Who all died—
Who all died conveniently in a plane wreck! They drop out of the public’s notice, then each one is sent somewhere like this, put in to get the prisoners to trust him and take to the training… the whole reason we do anything around here is because Allen told us to… If it wasn’t for him, we’d all be in rebellion right now…
John cleared his throat and spoke. “I can see why you didn’t want anyone to know about this. It’s crazy. Allen is the only person keeping us sane.”
“That’s what Mistlethwakey wants you to think!”
“That’s… that’s just so sad. You just can’t believe that there’s some selfless person here who’s looking out for us. You can’t trust him simply because he’s too nice.”
Naomi stood up and walked towards the door. “You know what, fine, don’t believe me. When you’re suppressing someone’s civil liberties twenty years from now, don’t blame me: I tried to warn you.”
She opened the door and gasped in surprise.
“So, what do you think you two are doing in here?” Udarian asked, leering. “And just what the **** do you think you’re doing Donalson?!” he suddenly yelled. “That is disgusting! I’m covered in **** and you’re happily sleeping away; don’t think that I don’t know that you did this—“


John’s eyes snapped open. He was lying on his bed, the smell of feces surrounding him. He blinked a few times and tried to order his thoughts, then sat up and looked around.
Udarian was out of his bed, a thick trail of brown slime showing his path to his cabinet and then to the bathroom. There was the sound of the shower being turned on, and then a continued tirade from Udarian. John ignored it and went to get some clothes from his own cabinet.
Ten minutes later, John and Udarian were standing in their usual places in the large room. As usual Mistlethwakey entered to review his troops. As usual, he stopped to deliver a short speech.
“Today is a very special day for all of you. It has now been five years since you were brought here. Five years working to become the most dangerous beings on the planet. And you have all made tremendous progress. Each of you is more than a challenge to any master martial artist, an Olympic athlete. Each of you is the best you can possible be. So today will be the last of your basic training. No more pointless exercises, no more endless drills. Tomorrow you start to practice in the field, earning valuable practical experience. Tomorrow, your true lives begin.” He smiled, nodded, and shifted his attention to the guards, each standing quietly behind their charge.
“And for you brave soldiers who have served as guards for this program, today is the last day of your long exile. Tomorrow you will be released for a year of leave, one entire glorious year to enjoy fresh air and all of the comforts of home. Before you leave, however, there is one last item of business to attend to. Today, we have twenty-five new guards who will be joining us to oversee the E.H.U.D.s while you’re all away. I would like each of you to meet with your designated replacements, make them feel welcome, help them get to know their charges. There will now be four E.H.U.D.s to one guard, so it may take some time to get this done. But I have faith in your abilities to handle this, and trust you all to handle this change over in the quality manner we have come to expect from you.” Mistlethwakey smiled proudly and gave his men a brief salute. “Dismissed.”
Mistlethwakey left the room, the guards chattered excitedly and the E.H.U.D.s did nothing.
****…
That’s not good…
There’ll only be twenty-five of them, now’s our chance—
No! Now is not the time!
All of the E.H.U.D.s turned to look at Allen. He stood tall and stared ahead, never blinking. The guards will be at their lowest number, so other defenses will be on alert… Scramblers will be everywhere, doors will be sealed… probably mined, too… In their mind, it’s better for us to die, to be a wasted investment, than to escape…
No one argued; they had all seen into Mistlethwakey’s mind. Allen spoke the truth.
Despite this, some amongst them still wanted to take this opportunity to escape. Lemlin in particular was radiating restless energy. Now is our only chance! These new guards don’t know us, can’t understand what we’re capable of… we have an opportunity; we have to exploit it…
Some of the E.H.U.D.s resisted Lemlin’s ideas, but others, either through a lapse of mental fortitude or because of their own overwhelming desire for revenge, were deciding to follow Lemlin’s plan rather than Allen’s.
We can’t do anything… John left all of his apprehension and pent-up fear accessible to the E.H.U.D.s. Mistlethwakey’s been planning this for years… they’ve had more than five years to work through this change over; they’re not going to make a mistake now… If they think it’s safe to leave us hear largely unsupervised, then it probably is…
Even as these thoughts passed through his mind, another, hidden idea wormed its way through him: Allen’s first reaction was to caution patience… He thinks he knows more than we do about the guard’s preparations and he wants us to stay put…
With some effort, John was able to bury these doubts and keep them separate from the group.
Lemlin continued to press his point. We can’t stay here forever! The team here has an entire twenty-year plan! They’ll have everything worked out! We have to take a risk and make a jump sooner or later, so I say—
Shut up! Someone’s coming!
The E.H.U.D.s stopped their debate and focused on a section of concrete wall directly across form their door into the room. There were presences, minds behind that wall. They had none for some years now that this section of wall housed another door into the great room, but they had yet to see it used.
There was a grinding sound, and then a scraping, and the wall moved out of the way, pulling back and disappearing into the hall beyond just as the other door did. For a moment there was no movement, and then twenty five uniformed figures stepped out of the darkness: eleven women and fourteen men.
The newcomers stopped several yards from the E.H.U.D.s and spread themselves out in a ragged line, staring in fascination at the E.H.U.D.s.
John chose one of the men and, with some effort to push through the unfamiliarity of it, dipped into his mind. It was interesting to see himself through this man’s mind; to truly comprehend how utterly alien he looked, like a healthy, meaty skeleton. When John saw himself through the other guards, he certainly seemed strange, but they were used to seeing him, so not all of the strangeness was truly appreciated. But to this new guard, these strange specimens standing before of him looked like something that had stepped out of a horror film: gaunt, muscular… one of those sprinting zombies that had become popular in the nineteen nineties, not one of the shuffling corpses from the sixties.
John blinked and withdrew himself from the guard’s mind. Without even meaning to, he had stumbled upon the guard’s love of horror films; apparently it was something the guard thought about so often that it had been integrated into the makeup of his conscious mind, able to be picked up by any curious telepath.
They’re scared… someone said. Now… now we attack…
No! Whatever we do—
There was a split second to prepare; a moment when several minds made the decision to attack, and then the second E.H.U.D. insurrection began. Seventeen of the E.H.U.D.s spun around and rushed towards the guards standing behind them, another twelve ran forward to subdue the new guards.
The old guard seemed ready for something like this: they snapped into action, raising their weapons and taking aim at their assailants. Just as the weapons came into position, a sudden weariness swept over them. The rifles grew heavy; their muscles sagged; half of the guards instantly collapsed and began to snore. The rest merely stood helplessly by as their enraged prisoners charged at them and knocked them to the ground.
The new guards fared slightly better: their minds were unfamiliar to the E.H.U.D.s, who had only had the same hundred and a few minds to practice on. Three guards fell asleep, eleven more stumbled and tried to stay awake; the rest grabbed for the pistols holstered at their wastes. Before they could clear the holsters however, the E.H.U.D.s had them. They were pushed to the floor, their own weapons turned against them—
The buzz if the scramblers filled the air. The sound shook John out of the shock he had been in while he watched the attack and he realized that he was standing over one of the guards, a pistol in his hand.
Around the room the scramblers were having their normal effect: some E.H.U.D.s fainted, others screamed in agony, still others simply looked confused.
John glanced around the room, trying to decide what to do next. There were at least twenty E.H.U.D.s still standing, most holding captured weapons. There was Naomi, Dr. Frease, Sarah, Cyd, Talan, Vince… And Allen.
Allen noticed John looking at him and he inclined his head. “Well?” He pointed to the man at John’s feet. “Are you going to do it?”
“I-I didn’t want this—“ John still wasn’t sure how he had ended up here; he had been deadest against an attack.
“It doesn’t matter what you did or did not want. You’ve chosen a course of action: you can kill this man and start the path to our salvation, or you can put the gun down and put us back under Mistlethwakey’s heel.”
“You… You want me to kill him?”
Allen shrugged and went to stand by John, his voice lowering as he drew near. “I want out of this hellhole as much as you do. I want this man dead and this whole mess over with.”
“Then why didn’t you have us attack before? Why didn’t you give Lemlin the go-ahead?”
“Because Lemlin isn’t the leader; he doesn’t decide what’s right for the E.H.U.D.s.”
John was surprised; he knew that Allen was their leader, everyone knew that. But it had always been a reluctant leadership; Allen only did what his people wanted him to do for them. “And what makes you think that you’re able to decide what’s right for us?”
“I don’t; I’m not the leader.” He glanced thoughtfully around the room. “You are.”
“What?”
“Whenever Lemlin tried to start anything in the past, I kept him quiet. Whenever someone wanted to take a major course of action, I dissuaded them. Not for my sake, not for my timing, but for yours. We’re not leaving here until you’re ready.”
John had no idea what Allen was talking about, but he knew that the E.H.U.D.s newfound position of power couldn’t last forever; they needed to act.
“So you want me to kill him?” John waved the pistol at the guard.
“It really all depends on what you want. If you kill him, the others will follow you. We kill all the other guards, shut down the scramblers and escape. All you have to do is pull the trigger.”
“Why me? What if someone else shoots one of the other guards?”
“They’re too afraid. Even you’re too afraid. But you have me to spur you on; you can do it.”
John swallowed and looked down at the man laying unconscious at his feet. He couldn’t see the man’s face; that helped. As John considered pulling the trigger, it became apparent to him just how human this other person was. Allen could think of him as an obstacle to freedom; even John could. But faced with shooting him…
It would mean freedom, a chance to escape. The guards were complacent today; after this they’d be constantly alert. Lemlin was right; it was now or never.
John slipped his finger behind the trigger guard and took aim at his prisoner’s head… Freedom was just a bullet away… Twenty-five bullets, a hundred bullets, a sea of blood…
John yelled and fired the pistol into the floor next to the man, showering chips of concrete over the three of them. “I can’t! God ****it, I can’t!”
He dropped the pistol and stared down at the man he had almost killed. A moment later he felt Allen’s arm resting on his shoulder. “You couldn’t kill him. That says a lot about the kind of person you are. You’re the good kind, the kind who would be forever haunted by this act. I can’t say if you made the right choice or not, but you made the choice that defines you. You’re a good person.” Allen dropped his arm and walked away.
John looked up at the others standing in the room. They all stared back at him, wide-eyed, their rifles hanging limp beside them. He couldn’t see their thoughts, but he knew what they were thinking: They were still human, still themselves. If the only way out of this mess was to become killers, to change who they were, would it be worth it to save themselves? If they had been the ones to decide if this guard lived or died, if the E.H.U.D.s were to remain victims or transgressors, would they have been able to make the right choice?
One by one, they all dropped their weapons and walked to the middle of the room. John joined them and sat down next to Naomi, who stared blankly at the floor. John knew what was troubling her; he had seen her mind right before the scramblers had closed it off. She was like John, refusing to join in the violence, and then finding herself caught up in it when the time came. And then John knew: she had been faced with the same choice he had been: to kill, to lose herself to the fury. And she had chosen to shift responsibility to someone else, just as John had tried to shift responsibility to Allen.
If Allen had told him to kill the man, John could have done it, could have justified the killing as being truly committed by Allen. But Allen had left the choice to him; let him become the guilty party… And he couldn’t do it.
Despite the years of slavery that stood before them, despite the anger that he knew would be directed his way by guard and E.H.U.D. alike, he felt proud knowing that he had faced his inner darkness and come out unscathed.
But his pride was somewhat overshadowed by what Allen had said to him: John was the leader. He didn’t believe it; Mistlethwakey was the leader, and all that the E.H.U.D.s could hope to do was to maneuver around him and usurp his authority.
Of course, maybe Allen wasn’t thinking about the here and now. He was always planning, anyone could see that. He was always preparing for something, staring carefully and humming to himself. Presumably, he was preparing for the escape.
It suddenly dawned on John: Allen was planning the escape, and was going to use John as a central figure in that plan. Again, pride swelled within him. Allen had chosen John to lead the escape. He was trusted, he was respected, he was deemed worthy of the task.
Next to him, Naomi leaned against his arm and fell asleep. John moved his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, and then stared out at the far wall.
Above them, John could hear the clicking of dress shoes on concrete; Mistlethwakey had been watching them.
Over the next several hours the guards woke up, gathered their weaponry, dragged the incapacitated E.H.U.D.s kicking and screaming to the center of the room. Only then did the scramblers shut off.
It felt strange to suddenly have the omnipresent buzz gone, to feel the world, the two-hundred familiar minds flooding back into his own. John felt the tension in the room rising: Lemlin and his followers seething with rage that their plan had failed, that they had been taken down so easily; the E.H.U.D.s loyal to Allen wondering if they had made the right choice in surrendering to their better nature; the guards building up resentment against the prisoners who had defeated them so swiftly.
Mistlethwakey’s voice boomed out through the room. “Good job! Much better than last time! If you had actually been able to kill anyone, you might have made it out! Now if you’re all done acting like spoiled children, perhaps you’d like to get back to meeting your new guards! Your old guards will introduce you!”
Silence enveloped the room again, interrupted only by the clicking of Mistlethwakey’s shoes.
“C’mon,” Udarian growled, slapping John on the back of the head and walking towards one of the new guards. John pulled himself to his feet, swaying slightly; after the psychic exertion of the insurrection and the hours of mental lock-down produced by the scrambler, he wasn’t feeling well.
None of us are… Vince confirmed.
Stop that…
Udarian stopped next to a tall, muscular man and beckoned John forward. “Donalson, this is your new keeper: Lieutenant Shaun Wendelferce. Wendelferce, this is the little **** that I have to take care of. I hope you get a chance to kill him while I’m gone.” Without a backwards glance, Udarian walked towards the second doorway and disappeared.
John stared after Udarian for a few moments, wandering what Udarian would do with his time off, and wandering what the chances were that he would die. They were probably considerably higher out there in the real world, what with car accidents and muggings. The thought of Udarian being shot in a robbery gone bad filled John with a small amount of hope.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t spend too much time thinking about Udarian’s death; there was this Wendelferce to worry about now. John turned and looked over his new tormentor. For some reason, he looked oddly familiar…
“So…” Wendelferce drawled, staring blankly up at the ceiling, “I guess you decided not to shoot me.”
That was it—rushing forward, his mind merged with the others, the human shape looming up in front of him, Wendelferce raising his pistol—John took a deep breath and cautiously probed into his guard’s mind. Anger, hate, urge to kill, hold it in, hold it in…
This was not a good start to the next year.
Moments later Lister, Allen’s guard, passed off his charge to Wendelferce and also left the room. Next to join the little group was Vince, much to John’s dismay. He didn’t yet know what the significance of these new prisoner-guard distributions, but he had an uneasy feeling that it would require spending an inordinate amount of time with his group mates.
The final member of the group was Naomi. Her inclusion in a group that already included both John and Allen made John feel more than a bit suspicious. As Allen was always assuring them, Mistlethwakey was not stupid; so why was he putting the three biggest trouble makers in one group together? And if he really was grouping the troublemakers together, why would he include Vince with them? He was annoying and useless.
On the other hand, he had been the first to open up true telepathic communication in the E.H.U.D.s. And now he was lumped in with the troublemakers… John changed his estimation of Vince; there was definitely something hidden behind that amiable face.
John’s thoughts broke off as Wendelferce cleared his throat. “In case any of you missed it, I’m your new overseer, Captain Shaun Wendelferce. Some of you may have heard a different rank, but I assure you that it is captain. Now, I’ve been briefed on what goes on around here, and I have to say you’ve all been pretty lucky; you’ve done nothing but sit around and do basic training. Well, I’m here to tell you that that’s all going to change.”
John couldn’t help it; he laughed.
Wendelferce glanced at John and then, after a moment of hesitation, smiled. “What’s so funny?” There was something frightening about that smile.
John instantly stopped his laughter. “Getting kidnapped and tortured is not my idea of having it easy.”
“Really? Tell me, besides today, how often have you tried to kill your guards?”
“I can’t say individually, but as a whole, just once.”
“I see.” Wendelferce nodded, then pushed a small button on his belt. The sound of the scrambler filled the room, followed by the gasps and screams of the other E.H.U.D.s. “And when you tried to kill your guards, there were no consequences, correct?”
Reluctantly, John nodded. He couldn’t tell what Wendelferce was thinking… and that frightened him…
“Well, that’s what I call having it easy. Unfortunately for you, that’s not the case anymore. For the last five years, you’ve learned how to fight. This year, you’ll learn how to obey orders.” As he spoke, his hand drifted back towards his belt; it emerged moments later with his pistol.
There was a small explosion and then John was rolling on the ground, clutching his mangled foot and screaming.
Allen glared at Wendelferce. “That was uncalled for.”
The pistol aimed at Allen. “Mistlethwakey doesn’t seem to think so; I have complete discretion in these matters. All that he cares about is that you live through this.” He nodded down at John, who was now curled in a ball and sobbing. “He needed to learn that it’s not his place to try to kill us, and I believe that this is the best way for him to learn that. Would you like to try out my method?” Allen stared stonily at the far wall. Wendelferce glanced at Naomi and Vince. “Do either of you have an issue with my methods?”
The mutely shook their heads.
“Good.” Wendelferce re-holstered his pistol and shut down the scrambler, then pointed nonchalantly at John’s twisted foot. “You might want t take care of that.”
John wanted nothing more than to lash out and kill Wendelferce right then and there, but he was too tired; he hadn’t eaten for hours, and his near constant usage of his powers that day had used up almost all of his spare energy. And besides, the guard was right; he needed to heal his foot.
With some effort, John was able to calm his mind, fight back the pain, and concentrate on his foot. His consciousness floated down his leg and rested in the foot, feeling the shredded flesh, the shattered bone. Thank God the bullet had passed all the way through; having to push it out or work around it would simply have been too hard. The remnants of the bone began to dissolve, liquefying and disappearing into the pulped flesh. The ends of the bones began to grow over, covering the exposed marrow in calcifications. Thick ropes of sinew extended from the flesh, wrapping themselves around the growing bone, pulling the limp flesh tight against it…
Somewhere far away, John could feel a gaping hole inside himself, a yearning, a cry of hunger from every cell in his body; the foot was taking more than its fair share of food.
After only a few minutes, John’s energy ran out completely and he was left gasping on the floor, his skin sealed and blood no longer flowing, but with the underlying bone and muscle warped beyond all practical use. He gazed down, wandering if he would be able to fix it later. So far, all their experimentation had been on direct healings, speeding up a simple, natural process. But if they foot stayed like this, if the it remained warped, could he try to change its growth? Or would he have to re-injure it and hope for the best?
A jolt of pain shot through John as his foot began to twist and straighten.
It’s alright… It’s fine… everything is going to be fine…
The short chant repeated itself several times, in three distinct voices. It finally ended when the foot was completely straightened and John was able to stand on it. He looked to his three companions and nodded. Thanks…
No thanks… we are a team, a family, a people… this is what we do…
The thought seemed to come from all of them, but the sentiments were distinctly Allen. John felt a moment of unease, remembering Naomi’s suspicions; it seemed now that Allen was maneuvering him, that he was filling them all with false camaraderie.
A voice spoke, distinct and alone. Not false… I’m doing this all for you, weaving your army, preparing your people for what has to come…
John was about to ask for clarification on that point, to find out what Allen meant by saying that John was the E.H.U.D.s’ leader, when the scrambler turned on again. Somewhere in the distance Lemlin could be heard bellowing in agony.
“Okay, you’re all spending a bit too much time in your own heads. From know on, you don’t get to have your little psychic chats without my say-so.”
“Unless another guard turns off the scramblers.”
Wendelferce closed his eyes, turned to face Allen, and opened them again. “What makes you think the others have access to the scrambler system?”
“First, this is a room-wide system, meant to neutralize a hundred of us; you’re only in charge of four. Second, at least one of the other guards is a major; I highly doubt that she would allow an underling exclusive control of the system.”
“Now, here’s where you’re wro—“ Wendelferce was interrupted by the sudden silence that filled the room. “****.”
Allen smiled. “I thought so.”
Vince snorted. “Looks like you’re not so all-powerful after all!”
Wendelferce’s face cleared of expression and his breathing slowed.
John closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see what he knew was coming.
When his eyes opened, Wendelferce was, to his surprise, lying on the ground, clutching at his throat.
Naomi spat on him. “You have the guns, you have the scramblers, but we have the five years of hand-to-hand combat. Don’t **** with us.”
Wendelferce coughed.
It was too much; John smiled. He regretted that he hadn’t been the one to hit him, but he was certainly glad that someone had been able to humble Wendelferce.
Several minutes later, Wendelferce was able to stand. “Okay, okay, you’ve proved your point; we each have strengths.” The frightening smile returned. “But I still have one advantage over you. You see, I know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
“And so will we,” John replied. His anger had cooled, and he now saw the guard for what he was; a weak bully. He had been given power over the four of them, and he had been quick to use it. This man was to be pitied, not feared. And then John realized something: he could do it now, could kill this man without any qualms. He wasn’t really a person, a true human. He was just an animal, a male trying to be the alpha of this little pack, and willing to do anything to assert his dominance. He wasn’t a person, just a roadblock to their freedom.
When next he got the chance, John would take it, and Wendelferce would be dead.
There was a glint in Wendelferce’s eye. “I never said that I wanted to keep this information private.”
John was taken aback; he had assumed that this last little bit of posturing was just a bluff. But if they were expected to find out what it was that Wendelferce knew…
I’ll do it… Allen expressed his vitality, the energy he had left to go into the guard’s mind and find out whatever he could. Vince, Naomi, and John needed to conserve their strength.
A moment later a wave of revulsion hit them as Allen emerged from the guard’s mind. He took a step backwards and stared incredulously at Wendelferce. “You can’t be serious…”
Next to Allen, Naomi was staring wide eyed at the floor and Vince was firmly shaking his head. All John could do was tremble.
Wendelferce smiled. “I think we have a new understanding here. For you four, I am god. I will take you and make you into the perfect soldiers. And if you don’t conform to my mold, you will die.”
There was a sharp whistle from somewhere near the ceiling. Wendelferce looked up, glanced around at the other groups, and then returned his attention to his own E.H.U.D.s. “That was the signal for lights-out. It’s coming a bit early tonight because-“ his face split in a huge grin- “you have a big day tomorrow. Return to your normal barracks; you’ll all sleep alone tonight.” With a brief, mocking salute, he turned and strode off to where a group of guards was congregating near the second door.
“Naomi…” Vince mumbled. She turned and embraced him.
All around the room the other E.H.U.D.s seemed to be in shock, either standing still or pacing in tight circles and muttering. John knew they had all seen what he had seen: what they would have to do tomorrow.
He looked to Allen. “I won’t do it.”
“What choice do we have?”
“I couldn’t kill him today and I certainly won’t kill them tomorrow.”
“If we don’t, we die.” So saying, Allen left the group, heading towards the first door, and the barracks beyond.
“I won’t do it,” John repeated. No one heard him.
As he began the short trip back to his barracks, John reevaluated Wendelferce, based on what he had seen in his mind, what he was taking part of tomorrow, how much he enjoyed it. John had been wrong: Wendelferce was not a simple bully, not a roadblock to freedom. He was a threat.
And John knew that what he had done earlier that day was a mistake, a sign of weakness. If he got another opportunity, he would kill Shaun Wendelferce.

Happy New Year!

Okay, so its been a while since an update. In fact, it's a whole new year. Seeing as this is the case, I've decided to do a little year-in-review kind of thing, talking about various high-lights from 2009. Unfortunately, I can only remember things from within the last six months, so here goes, in no particular order:

1. My Dad: For the past thirty years, my dad has had Hepatitis C., which is, for all intents and purposes, incurable. In November of 2008, he went to get some blood work done, and the Viral Load was around three million parts per part of measurement (I don't know what the units are in this; Suffice to say, he was slowly dying of this thing.) Just when he was about to start chemotherapy for this, he lost his job, and has turned into something of a Mr. Mom. Well, during his unemployed time, he got really in touch with God, and after quite a bit of spiritual growth and prayer, he got another job, this time at a hospital. Using this job, he was able to leverage a consultation with a specialist, who performed another Viral Lode test. This time, the number was down to five thousand. You know how cleaning products always claim to kill 99.9% of all germs? Well, this is equivalent. Soon after we received the results of the test, my dad began to regain strength, lose weight, and generally get healthier. And bear in mind that the doctor is aware of both sets of test results. So what we have here is a medically verifiable miracle, a cure for an incurable disease. And just last week, a woman at our church who also had Hep C had similar tests done, with similar results. That's 2 medically verified miracles. Thank you, Jesus!

2. My closet: My bedroom used to be the house garage. As such, it has some unique features, amongst them two closets. This winter, I managed to convert one of my closets into a workbench with which to customize action figure. See pictures above.

3. School: I've completed my first semester of college. Not much to say about that.

4. The book: Ah, E.H.U.D. The whole reason I started this blog. over the course of the year it went from being a two hundred page, rather poorly written little thing into an epic, six hundred page, rather better written monstrosity. And it just keeps getting longer. In the last draft, the book was divided into 2 parts; know its 4 (which, coincidentally, fixes the problem stated in my last post). In the new year, I plan to finish it, as well as start a Wiki to provide a fan community site, as well as a easier means of reading past chapters.

5. God: Over this past year, I've come much closer to God, really improved my relationship with him and with others. I don't really want to talk about it in too much detail here, but if you want to know more, just email me. On a related note, I spent the New Year's weekend in Kansas City at IHOP, getting totally blasted in the holy spirit. It was awesome, and if you get the chance to go, I suggest you do.

Okay, well, I'm running out of time and can't type much longer, so... Hope you all had a good new year's, and look forward to a new chapter coming soon!