The Profane Dog

Chosen Pt. 1, Ch. 1

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE : SETTLEMENT DAY -30

Is she right?

Darius Gideon thinks not.

The man sat for a long time, silent and motionless, staring at the flat screen in his hands. If there had been anyone else in the canteen, they might have been mesmerized by the his face while he read the morning news. Below the buzz of close cropped, wheat colored hair, his sharp facial features had formed a range of subtle expressions. There had been mild amusement, annoyance, wistfulness, and then finally the tight-lipped, tense-jawed scowl that revealed inner anger.

No, not anger. Rage.

But there was no one else in the dining call, and thats precisely why Olan Algar was there. In the two years since his appointment as chairman of the movement, it had been his morning habit to arrive in the canteen an hour before the days first meal was scheduled to be served, while everyone else was still going through the slow, yawning process of waking. At this time of morning, he could savor his coffee in silence, prepare himself for the hours of work ahead, and read. Once the canteen opened for regular service, the room would be roaring with activity and the noise of at least 75 people newly awakened and ready for another day. There would be talking and laughing, blaring music, and potential danger caused by whizzing, high-velocity balls slung around in the occasional two person lacrosse match (which almost always ended with a innocent bystander being hit by a stray pass - which in turn almost always led to shouted insults against the offenders parents/grandparents/ancestors, followed by a hasty retreat made by the offender him or herself before the matter could come to blows). Silence would be banished and concentration rendered impossible.

Algar glanced at his watch and after determining that he still had another half hour of time to himself, he began reading the last article for a second time. On the surface, there wasnt much to it. It was a standard headline blurb about a matter that had become so routine that the reporting agencies didnt even bother printing the details anymore: GE was selling development rights to more land. More towns were being cleared. More refugees were being created and they would flock to cities that had no room for them. But to the sharp faced man with the wheat colored hair, the short article shouted out a fact that sent an icy shudder down his back.

Thay had known!

He was certain of it. Someone had fed their plans to the enemy, and the enemy had responded swiftly and severely. Without the citizens of Petalocha, the action that had been so meticulously calculated for that region was impossible. Without the citizens, the movement was nothing more than a bunch of people with big ideas, sitting around in their secret hide-out, complaining. There would be no Phase One, and without Phase One, all of the preparation and planning that had been done over the last sixteen years would have been done for nothing.

Algar stared at the picture of Darius Gideon that was grinning smugly at him from the readers screen. Rage began boiling in him once again. With his teeth clenched together, he slowly raised his right hand, extending the index finger and thumb in the same way a child might, pretending their hand is a pistol, and pressed his fingertip to the point between the grinning images eyes. If there had been anyone else in the canteen at that moment, they would have heard him whisper.

Bang.

* * * * * *

Hayden Aaron Pratchett stifled a yawn, blinked hard and wished like hell he was back in bed. The morning had started off so nicely. Warm, comfortable bed. Warm, comforting presence of his wife beside him in the bed. A hazy, half-conscious sort of amorousness that couldnt quite decide if it was content to remain a slight, gentle urge or if it had ambitions to evolve into a bit of sleepy, early morning sex. So nice. But all that had been quickly pushed aside when the alarm had gone off.

As though she had been launched, Ella had jumped out of bed with more energy and enthusiasm than anyone has the right to show at 0500 in the morning, and announced:

Hes here this morning. Weve got to go!

With a groan, the IP in charge of Internal Security, had grudgingly forced himself into a sitting position and frowned at the flurry of movement that was his wife zipping around their quarters, frantically getting dressed. The same scene played itself out every two months when the Roadman passed through the area and stopped at the complex to hold services. Hed long ago stopped trying understand why she was so excited about the visits. It was just some guy who droned on and on about how mysterious the universe is, sang songs in a language that most of the people in the service wouldnt understand, and passed around that all too familiar dish of faintly luminescent paste that gave everyone a severe and persistant case of the grins for an hour or two.

It was just church.

At the front of the room which was normally used for mid-level briefings, the short, white haired man had begun his droning.

In a respectful way, weve all come here today to meditate on the mysteries of creation and learn, if we may, what our place is within it all.

Instantly, Hayden felt another yawn building in response to the Roadmans monotone voice, but the impulse was thwarted by a peculiar tingling feeling that seemed to emanate from the roots of his back teeth. The sensation was immediately followed by a voice in his head that spoke in a mocking parody of the Roadman.

And while your place in the universe may be simple and unassuming, mine however, is of the utmost important. I am here, my brothers and sisters, to bore the hell out of you.

Hayden inhaled sharply, held his breath for several seconds and willed himself not to laugh. The Roadman continued, unaware.

As a people we are at a crossroads. Our culture is in peril. On all sides we are confronted by those who wish to destroy our beliefs and our way of life. And it is only by a return to the old ways that we will survive.

And when I say old ways, I mean OLD WAYS. Ways that so old that no one remembers them. And because no one remembers them, I can respectfully come before you today and tell you whatever stupid crap comes into my head, pretending that its ancient wisdom, and you will BELIEVE!

In the seat to Haydens right, Kurt Deloria was trying his best to foster a serious, contemplative expression. But the deputy IPs efforts were in vain. Anyone who noticed the way his chest and shoulders were shaking spasmodically, would know that he was laughing. Two seats ahead of them, a junior security officer suddenly leaned forward and covered his face with his hands.

We must live pure lives. The Roadman continued. Pure in thought, pure in deed, pure in word.

On second thought, scratch that. Purity blows. The spirits have told me that the really real old ways demand much debauchery and dirtiness. Yes! The dirtier the better. Strong drink and loose women, say the spirits! And that reminds me of the time I spent the weekend in Matthiessen. Had fifteen hundred marks in my pocket and . . .

For forty minutes the battling monologues continued. The Roadman carried on his earnest, yet thoroughly tedious sermon, while Yumni Black visciously lampooned his every word. Covertly, of course. And for forty minutes the members of the movements security force who had attended the service out of duty to their culture, religion and their captain (who was compelled to attend himself out of a desperate fear of being forced to sleep alone for an undetermined length of time), coughed sneezed, wheezed, and pretended to fall into spontaneous prayer.

Then finally, mercifully, it was over, and to the complete bemusement of the others in the room, fourteen people erupted into gales of laughter seemingly for no reason whatsoever.

Ella Pratchett stared at them with an expression of mixed annoyance and amusement.

It was my brother again, wasnt it? She asked.

In the hall, Yumni appeared with a huge, satisfied grin on his face. Clearly visible against his left cheek was the thin black wire of a headset microphone.

Good stuff, eh? His grin widened.

Yeah. Deloria answered. Best yet. You really outdid yourself this time.

Thank you, thank you. But I was starting to sweat it there at the end. Thought I was going to run out of material before the old man ran out of prayers.

Well, at least you know the new receiver implants work. Ella said with mock disdain.

Indeed they do, O most esteemed sibling. Yumni replied. He looked as though he were about to say more, but an announcement over the buildings PA system interrupted.

All IPs, Deputys and section leaders are to report to the main briefing room immediately. Thank you.

The group looked at one another for a moment, slightly confused about the unscheduled meeting so early in the morning, and then started off toward the other side of the complex.