The Subject Steve: A Novel (21 page)

What does Steve eat?

He eats what's brought to him. Water, bread and water, sometimes stew. The Realms community decides his dinner daily. Steve has joked that he can gauge the mood of the nation by the size of his portion. Some days the nation is in a generous mood. Some days, maybe, the generous majority is busy. Those days the people Steve tends to call the bastards log on to the Subject Steve. Just Water, they shout at their screens. Of course, there are those who have already visitedThe Tool Shed and downloaded the latestthought command application. They don't have to say anything at all!

They just think just water, and just water it is!

When is Steve not available for viewing?

Never is Steve not available for viewing. There are camerason him all the time. There are camerasin him all the time.

Is the Subject Steve a game?

The Subject Steve (TM) is a revolutionary media space that binds together the most innovative elements of gaming, spectacle, democracy, and commerce. It is produced byThe Realms in association with theGoldfarb-Blackstone Life Lab.

What is the significance of the mothering hut?

The hut Steve inhabits, housed in the main facility, is an exact replica of the one erected by the late Heinrich of Newark at the now-defunct Center for Nondenominational Recovery and Redemption. It was used for purification purposes and to hasten personal growth. The Realms, as many know, is indebted to the teachings of Heinrich, but its methods and goals must be situated in a much larger context.Read Realms-founder Robertson Trubate's mission statement for more information.

How long does Steve have to live?

It's difficult to calculate. By our calculations there can be no calculations. He is dying of something no one has ever died of before. He is dying of something absolutely, fantastically new. Click here for his medicalchart or visit the Realmsarchives for a peek at the top-secret notes Goldfarb and Blackstone took during those first, exciting consultations. Click here for adimensional model of the deadly Goldfarb protein.

Is Steve's item book posted in its entirety?

It will never be complete until Steve himself achieves ultimate completion.

Does Steve deserve our sympathy?

We'll let the Realmers speak to that. Here's a transcript from comments made earlier this week in the Special Cases Lounge, one of our most popular rooms.

gary7:fuck steve . . . anybody here?

burma:steve-O fuck that fucker die already!

nonabravo:he's misunderstood

burma:this twaddle again? i say fuck steve

gary7:bad dad bad hubby.

nonabravo:less than bad. worse.

reneelegs:He thinks he made me come.

bundiscakes:Sad Less than sad.

gary7:fuck him

machinaX:right on baby!

nonabravo:did you see that bio on his father?

seawolf:inner monsoon my ass.

steve: Hey, it's me.gary7 : fuck you get the fuck out of here.

reneelegs: steve you should go.

burma: you're ruining it dude.

gary7: go the fuck you fuck.

"You're a hit," said Bobby Trubate. "But watch it with all the scribbling. Better you babble than scribble. Better yet, moan. Steve, they love the moans. They love the mealtimes. They dig dialogue, conversations, say. The conversation we're having now? They love it. We have data. Your pathetic attempts at masturbation? The rubbing? They adore this. Hell, they even tune in for your naps. But the writing, I mean, have you ever watched somebody write? What are you fooling around with that stupid item book for, anyway? The rest of us burned ours, you know. After we buried Heinrich. Very ritualistic. Very moving."

"I'm not done with mine."

"Well, I'm not going to stop you. More Steve content. For later. Do you know what I mean when I say for later?"

"Yes," I said.

"The bed restraints aren't too tight, are they?"

"No, they're great."

"Do you have enough arm motion?"

"Sure."

"How's your back?"

"I don't know. I'm restrained."

"I'm sure it's fine," said Trubate. "I'm sorry I shot you. But I bet you're pretty stoked it was a rubber bullet. I ordered them by mistake, but then I figured, rubber gets the job done. I'm not here to kill people."

"No, I suppose not."

"I mean Heinrich would have killed your ass. Bailing on his funeral like that."

"I guess so."

"I'm on your side. Not that there are sides, but if there were sides, I'd consider myself on your side."

"Thanks."

"Steve, do you know that I love you?"

"I didn't know that," I said.

"Now you know. I was going to say, not in a sexual way, but what the hell does that mean? I love you in every way. We're all post-human here, right? I'm not afraid. Are you afraid?"

He pointed to a canvas satchel on the wall, Heinrich's old pain kit.

Branks, breast-ripper, pear.

He looked up into one of the cameras in the thatch.

"Realmers," he said, "are you ready for more show!?"

The Philosopher came by for a visit.

"You," I said.

"Me," he said, bared his new blazing teeth.

"Nice," I said.

"Had to fly up north for them," said the Philosopher. "Find a mouth guy Blackstone hadn't turned against me."

"The Mechanic," I said.

"We're in heavy litigation."

"Sorry to hear it."

"Don't be," said the Philosopher. "I consider it a continuation of our collaboration by other means."

He smoothed his hand on his hood.

"Why do you wear that?" I said.

"I'm Code Blue Man."

"Like a superhero?"

"People are frightened by science. This makes them feel more comfortable. Are you comfortable?"

He lifted a long syringe from a felt-lined case.

"What's that?"

"It's just a prop. People want more injections."

"There's stuff in it."

"Yes, there's stuff in it."

"What's the stuff?"

"Prop stuff. Now, if you'll allow me to lift your gown for a moment."

"Why?"

"Because," said the Philosopher, his voice loud for the microphones, "I need to take this frighteningly large needle and inject the sensitive tip of your penis!"

"No!" I said.

"It's crucial to your treatment!" he shouted.

"Please," I said.

"Just trust me," he said.

I decided to trust him. I figured he meant to fake it. I could sense a weariness in him, some seismic disgust with the entire enterprise.

I guess I figured wrong.

Time went by, probably. It was hard to keep track. The Realms launched a news division, a twenty-four-hour, continuously updated wire service, but the news was always at least several hundred years old. "False Messiah Leads Jews Awry in Smyrna," read one headline. "Pre-Classic Mayan Ritual to Include Hallucinogenic Enema," went another. Maybe it was all part of continuum awareness training.

Maybe it was all part of a plan.

Didn't it all have to be part of a plan?

The Rad Balm girl said it could well be.

The Rad Balm girl said there were big plans for my finale, too.

"My finale?" I said.

"We're days away," she said. "Bobby's given us the green light. Traffic is slowing down so it's time for the green light. The green light is going to be the light at the end of the tunnel. But it might not be green. It will be Heavenly, which I think of as white. But those are my prejudices speaking. My prejudices speak me. But sometimes they're right on the money."

"You're confusing me."

"I'm crystal on this. The Subject Steve must reach a satisfactory conclusion. A conclusion of total satisfaction-saturation. For all parties concerned. I need you to sign this waiver."

She handed me some stapled pages, a Bic ballpoint.

"Read it after you sign it," she said. "You know you're going to sign it anyway. You don't have to feign scrutiny. It's crucial that we stay crystal now."

I signed the waiver, the warrant, whatever it was.

I started to murmur so the Rad Balm girl would lean down.

I stabbed her in the neck with the Bic.

The Digger appeared in the doorway of the hut. I'd noticed him staring in from time to time, wordless, eyes flashing from behind his ski mask, but he'd never been so brazen before. Now he walked into the room and stood near an oil portrait of Heinrich painted on black velvet. It hung from a hook in the thatch.
Soldier, Healer, Dreamer
said the brass plate.

"How is she?" I said.

He looked away for a while, as though wondering if he should speak.

"She'll live," he said.

"Why don't you take your mask off? I know you, don't I? Where do I know you from?"

"I need to tell you," he said. "I've been asked to dig you a hole."

"Will I be dead when they put me in it?"

"That's an interesting question."

"Will you answer it?"

"I wish I would," said the Digger.

Desmond rolled in some covered dishes on a cart.

"Sure it's safe?" I said. "I'm a psycho now."

"I'll take my chances. Anyway, they're watching us. The whole world is watching us. This is your last meal."

"Don't I get to choose?"

My last bacon cheeseburger was a bit too bacony.

"How is it?" said Desmond.

"Delicious."

"We polled the Realms. Baked Alaska got nipped at the wire. Can I have a bite?"

I tore some burger off for Desmond.

"Damn," he said. "This is the shit. All that clean Asian food around here makes me sick. You know, my father was a flavor engineer."

"I didn't know that."

"God, I remember all the crazy guys that worked at his lab. Did stuff just for a goof. One guy, he made this steak sauce. He called it Holocaust-flavored. He bottled the shit and he-"

"I think I'd like to be alone now."

"I understand. But do you mind if I ask you one question?"

"One question," I said.

"How did you go on living knowing you were going to die?"

"Was I living?" I said.

"Wow," said Desmond. "Don't talk. Don't say another thing. Those should be your last words. Mythic, man. I knew you had style."

"Fuck you," I said.

"See, you ruined it. You always ruin it, don't you?"

"We said one question," I said.

Desmond stood and raised his hand towards the wall thatch. A woman in a mink brassiere walked into the room. Fair Dinkum.

"This is Tina," said Desmond, shut the door behind him.

Tina took a seat near my bed.

"I like your tattoo," I said. "Is that a water bottle?"

"Look," she said. "I'm not attracted to you in any way, but I'm supposed to offer you some kind of final sexual favor in the way of sex and stuff. Nobody else wanted to, so, of course, I'm like, I volunteer. I'm the little trooper, aren't I? Mom? Mom? Can you hear me, Mom? She's not dead, but it's like she's hovering all the time anyway. She's like, Tina, if everybody was like I'm not jumping off the bridge, and so on. Oh, well. So, what do you think? A little hoobie doobie? Some jobby wobby?"

"Jobby wobby," I said.

"Did I say jobby wobby? I didn't mean jobby wobby. I could shit on your cock, though."

She plucked at her lip stud.

They wheeled me out to the desert in my bed. They wheeled me out across the scrub, took me up to a little hillock of hard earth. They maybe meant to murder me with sunlight. Baked Steve. Devil's Steve Cake. Old Gold and the Rad Balm girl rigged lights and video gear. Dietz squatted by my gurney, rubbed my skull.

"I'll see you on the other side, bro," he said. "Or if there's no other side, then, well, I guess I'm seeing you right now."

Trubate was sweat-resplendent in his robe. He paced about his minions, muttered something about turning water into vitamin water, hummed. It was the aardvark song. I must have hummed it in my sleep. Maybe the nation was humming it by now.

"Fiona," I said.

The Digger was nearly done with the hole. The task had maybe taken a toll on him. He fell to his knees in the dirt, let some air in under his mask. I saw an odd lump of skin there.

"We're good to go," said the Rad Balm girl.

"Fucking finally," said Bobby. "Where's Warren? Don't we get another doggie speech?"

"Warren's not coming," said the Rad Balm girl. "He says his presence would send the wrong message to his readers."

"Pussy," said Trubate. "Pussy readers."

The Rad Balm girl held me down, saw me notice the bandage on her throat, dug her thumbnail into my ear. Old Gold unbuckled my bed straps, bound me up with rope. He ripped my gown away, picked up a tray of cold grease. I could make out shreds of last night's chuck, my mythic bacon cheese. Old Gold scooped up handfuls of the stuff, smeared me down like a channel swimmer. Sunlight was too easy. They meant to bait the beasts out of the desert night, the ants and wolves and wolverines, the carrion-loving birds, all of God's meat-horny Steve-craving things.

Renee stood off and watched, crutch tips sinking in sand.

"They could have voted for something much crueler," Trubate kept saying. "You should be thankful. Grateful. Thankful."

The Philosopher stood over me with his new marvelous mouth.

"I want you to know that in all my years of science I've never come across a subject as worthy of the name as you. I'll tell them what you did here this day. At cocktail parties. At informal seminars. Do you have anything to say before the ball gag goes in?"

"Excuse me?"

"Eighty-three percent of respondents weighed in for the gag option. Seventy-four percent of those people, incidentally, also regularly purchase home decor products online. Don't know what it means, really, but the people of the Realms have spoken. Do you have anything to say to the world?"

"I'm thirsty."

"That's it?"

"The Realms is not the Realms!" I said.

"Anything else?"

"It's all hype! You're being duped! The goose has no clothes! The president is a moon rock! Eden is a fuck club!"

"Take your time."

"The server is not secure!"

"Gag him!"

The Rad Balm girl rammed the ball in my mouth, cinched it tight. Old Gold tipped me into the hole. I kept squinching my eyes, waiting for dirt to splash down, but then I remembered the cameras, the burger fat. The Digger stood staring from the lip of the hole. It would have made for a menacing shot. Maybe it did. My ball gag probably had a camera, too. The Digger leaned down and tugged his ski mask off his head. He had a nylon stocking on beneath it.