Immortal (2 page)

“Where were you?” Gabrielle asked again.

“Donovan!” He answered.

“Oh. I get it.” She said, as she smiled
slightly.

“Jericho!” Donovan yelled from further back
down the road as he too moved towards the entry lines. “This ain’t
over, Jericho! You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Jericho said to
himself. Then he yelled to Gabrielle. “I’ll see you at mid-day
meal!”

“Okay, see you then!” She replied as she
hurried off into the factory, and to her assigned station.

Jericho approached the dome and inserted his
hand into the plasma beam as he had done a thousand times before,
and again it seemed to tickle. Sometimes he wondered exactly what
the beam was made out of, but mostly he just thought it was a
pretty blue color, a color that he had always associated with the
scanner. Everyone that entered the factory had to pass the scanner.
Once, years ago, a man had refused to put his hand in the scanner,
and since disobedience was forbidden, a Guardian had reached down
from the catwalk and touched him with the gleaming end of his
control stick. The touch had knocked him unconscious, even before
the Guardian could jump down from above. The Guardian had then
dragged him over to the scanner, and put his hand in for him. Days
later, Jericho had seen the man as he received lashes in the
square. Such was his punishment for having disobeyed. The primary
rule was to obey. Obey instructions, obey directions, obey any and
all communication from the Guardians. That was the rule, and it was
simple. Obey. It was also required by rule, that any violation, any
disobedience must be punished, and all such punishment must be
public for all to see.

He would never forget the man’s face, tear
streaked, blood splattered, in agonized pain, but absolutely silent
as each lash of the whip wrapped around the already split and
bloody skin on his back. The Guardian that administered the
punishment had held the same expressionless look on its face as
each stroke sliced deeper. It went through the motions with
mechanical preciseness, and absolute lack of emotion. Jericho could
see the broken and battered body of the poor man tied to the
whipping post, clearly reflected in the Guardian’s unblinking eyes.
But then as he had turned his glance, it was the man’s eyes that he
would never forget. Beaten, bloody, as stroke after stroke from the
unstoppable whip continued to land, the man’s eyes had been quite
clear and sharp. For a moment, just a slight fraction of a second,
they had locked with Jericho’s. It was quite clear that he would
never be disobedient again.

Jericho knew that the purpose of the scanner
was to detect if someone had the plague, even though no symptoms
were evident. That was how the plague was controlled. He had heard
horror stories of how infected people had spread the plague
throughout the village, and in some cases, it had killed entire
families. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would not want to help or
that anyone would not agree to be scanned.

The Guardian watched as Jericho was scanned
and the light remained green. As Jericho continued forward, he
heard a commotion from behind him.

“Damn thing’s broke!” The old man said as the
scanner’s light glowed red, his hand still inside the scanner’s
dome.

“Collin? What’s wrong?” The older lady behind
him asked as a siren began to blare. A Guardian quickly jumped down
in front of the man, as she grabbed her husband. “Collin? What’s
going on?” She asked again.

“The damn thing says I’ve got the plague!” He
said, as the fear welled up in his voice. His hand was still in the
scanner. As the Guardian approached, a mist began to spray down
into the crowd from the overhead. People began to run away from the
older man, as they pushed one another in a panic. He began to pull
at his hand, as he tried desperately to free it from the scanner
which had clamped down as soon as it had been triggered red. The
crowd had become more hostile, as some stepped on those that had
fallen, just to get away from the contaminated man.

“Be calm.” A loud voice emitted out of the
Guardian. “The plague has been isolated. You are in no danger.” The
Guardian, a full foot taller than the man before him, seized the
older man, and touched him lightly with the tip of his control
stick. His eyes still called to his wife, as his knees buckled from
under him, and he fell unconscious.

“Collin!” She screamed as she broke down in
hysterics. Another Guardian jumped down and held her from going to
her husband as the first Guardian reached into a compartment on its
side and retrieved a small black object. With a flick of its wrist
the object opened into a large black plastic bag and in matter of
seconds, the Guardian quickly covered and sealed the man within.
Suddenly a large steel boom swung into view overhead from over the
side of the rusted road wall, and from its tip, a steel cable
ending in a hook was already being lowered. Within moments, the
Guardian had fastened the hook to the bag, and quickly and silently
the cable retracted. The boom swung the bag containing unconscious
man up and over the rusted steel wall. The man was gone. His wife,
now unconscious from a touch of the Guardian’s control stick, was
quickly lifted by the Guardian that had approached her, slung over
its massive shoulder, and removed from the area. Less than a minute
had passed and it was all over.

Being next in line, Donovan stepped up to the
scanner and cautiously placed his hand in the scanner. He squeezed
his eyes tightly shut as he did. The scanners light continued to
glow green. He peeked through one eye, and sighed relief, as he was
pushed ahead by the others behind him.

At his station, Jericho couldn’t help but
smile about what had happened on the beach that morning. Though the
reaction of the man who had scanned red had shaken him up, it was a
commonplace occurrence in their lives. Not everyday, or even every
week, but it happened often enough that when it happened it was not
considered unusual. Just unfortunate. For as long as he could
remember, or even as long as his father could remember, or even his
father’s father, the plague had been rampant, but seemed only to
infect a few. Since forever, those that scanned positive with the
plague had been immediately taken to Quarantine. He remembered with
old sorrow, that his own mother had been taken there so long ago
that he did not think of it everyday anymore. It was for the best.
It was the rule. Isolate the plague and keep it from being able to
spread was what they were taught when they were young. One day he
hoped as they all did, that they would find a cure, and that was
why everyone worked so hard at the factory. They worked long twelve
hour days, every day, as each did their assigned tasks in finding
the cure for the plague. Jericho had been at his current station
for years now, and though he was not quite sure how his specific
assignment would lead to any future cure, he executed his duties
flawlessly, tirelessly, and endlessly. Someday they would find the
cure, but until then, this was the way it had to be, he knew it. It
was his assignment, and he obeyed.

His task required him to look through a
tabletop mounted viewfinder and inspect high speed streams of
highly magnified particles as they trailed across the lens from
left to right. With a black background, most of the streaming
particles were colored a dull green, or muted red, and occasionally
a burnt yellow. But once in a while, a particle would glow a bright
blue, similar to the mesmerizing blue glow from the plague
scanners. It was these particles that his task required him to
locate. Once located, he simply had to tag it, and it would be
retrieved at the next station. To tag it, he only had to press a
button. One of the many buttons mounted in the tabletop, which
correlated to the location, direction and speed of the target
particle. But it was this hand-eye coordination that made his task
unique, as it required more than a constant watch of the stream, or
quick reaction to having located the target particle, or even the
ability to hit the correct button within the allowed time frame. It
required an intuition of a sort. It required the ability to
anticipate where the particle would be a microsecond later than
when the button would actually be pushed.

When he had first received this assignment,
it was understood that it was as a test. Everyone knew that only a
few were capable of the intuitive aspect of this task. Many were
assigned, and many were quickly reassigned. Few were as capable as
Jericho, and few could stay at it as long as he had. Apparently for
some who could master the technique required, the long hours of
intense concentration began to erode their sanity. Though he had
not seen it first hand, he had heard the story of an earlier
operator at his station that after years of successful work had one
day come unwound. Having missed a target particle once and a while
was to be expected, even for a skilled operator, but this
particular day the female operator had missed over five particles
prior to the mid-day meal. The Guardian that always stood silently
behind the line of operators was said to have moved closer and
closer towards the operator that was having trouble, and had
remained nearby when she had returned from the mid-day meal. Almost
immediately incorrect particles were being tagged, and target
particles missed, and the Guardian had approached the operator with
a warning.

“Failure is not allowed.” The emotionless
mechanical voice had said. Already nervous, as she sweated
profusely, her hands had begun to shake. Then again, she missed a
target particle. She had turned quickly to steal a glance at the
close but immobile Guardian, and missed yet another target
particle. In one quick motion, it was said that the Guardian drew
and touched her with its control stick, caught her before she hit
the ground, and slung her over its shoulder and exited the room.
Moments later it had returned and escorted the new operator to the
station. That operator had been Jericho.

After having heard that tale some time after
he had mastered his task, he was quite nervous of the Guardian that
stood behind his station. It never moved or spoke, but it always
watched as it just stood there, as if it patiently waited for him
to make a mistake. And truly, the first few shifts after having
heard the story, he actually did miss a particle or two, and when
it happened, he could feel his heart beat speed up, his respiration
increase, and sweat begin to bead on his brow. But he would refocus
on his task and that, in and of itself would relax him, and he
would fall back into that intuitive predictive rhythm that made him
so good at what he did.

The mid-day meal would be soon, and he
couldn’t wait to see Gabrielle again. To see her smile, hear her
laugh, and just to smell her scent. He knew that he was in love,
and he relished every moment of it. Even as he watched the
non-target particles stream through the lens, he could think only
of Gabrielle. When the mid-day meal tone finally sounded, Jericho
was beside himself with delight. He rushed from his station and
soon approached the meal room, and he ran past many of his
coworkers to get in line. Since his station was located near the
rear of the factory, again, as usual, he had to wait. Then he saw
her, near the front of the line, at least fifty people away.

“Gabrielle! Back here!” He yelled. She turned
and waived.

“Jericho! What took you so long?” She
asked.

“Same thing, as always!” He replied. He
wished that she would come back to him, but he knew that it was
strictly forbidden. Once in a line, you had to stay put. That was
the rule.

“I’ll save a place for you inside!” She
yelled, and he nodded his reply. She turned back towards the front
of the line as it moved forward.

“So that’s your boyfriend!” Donovan said to
Gabrielle, as he intentionally bumped into her while moving forward
in line.

“Maybe. It’s none of your business, Donovan.”
She replied as she tried to ignore him.

“Bad choice, Gabrielle. He’s nothing but
trouble.” He said as her began to twirl her hair around his finger.
The Guardian at the entrance to the meal room stood motionless, and
appeared not to notice that he had touched her while in line.

“Stop it!” She exclaimed as she pulled her
hair away from him. “I suppose you mean that he’s nothing like
you?” She asked.

“Exactly!” Donovan replied, as his chest
swelled with pride and he once again began to twirl her hair around
his finger.

“Good, because I think you’re stupid!”
Gabrielle said with a sharp smile on her face, as she snatched her
hair back from him again. Donovan was physically taken back by her
comment. He reached up and took a handful of her hair in his hand
and yanked down.

“Ow!” Gabrielle screamed, and whirled around
to face him. Her hand shot out and slapped him across the face
before she even realized what had happened. Donovan reacted and
pushed her hard with both hands. As she fell to the ground, she
tried to balance herself, but fell onto the hard floor. When she
landed, she was stunned, and then began to cry. Donovan laughed as
if it was the funniest thing that he had ever seen. He was still
laughing as Jericho slammed into him from behind. Together, a
tangle of arms and legs, they pitched forward and knocked several
other people out of line. Jericho had Donovan by the hair and began
to repeatedly slam Donovan’s face onto the floor.

He never even felt the touch of the
Guardian’s control stick, until it brought on a sizzling seizure of
pain throughout his entire body. He fell to the ground as he
writhed in pain, and even as his eyes began to roll up into his
head, he could see the Guardian as it stood over him, and held the
control stick. As his vision faded he did not realize that his
bladder had let go, as his body still jerked uncontrollably from
that slightest touch of the control stick. He did not hear
Gabrielle’s screams, nor did he hear the raspy gargled moans from
Donavan as he too was incapacitated by another Guardian. He did not
hear the screams of the others in line as they tried desperately to
not be included in the altercation, or to be picked out by the
Guardians for control. He did not know the convulsions had stopped.
He did not feel the cold hard floor beneath him, as he lay in a
puddle of his own urine. He did not hear, nor feel, nor dream. He
did not even know that he no longer breathed.