The Naughty and the Nice (part 1)

Perfect World story (The NOW)

"Another missing person was reported today, making it the fifth such occurrence in the last month. The modus operandi for each has been the same for every disappearance-- each victim seems to have vanished while working at their jobs, and each person's occupation dealt directly with the public.

"Police are without leads and are asking the public for help. If you have any information about the disappearances of any of these people, please contact the lead detective's office at the number on your screen.

"In other news..."

Dark glasses reflected the elaborately coiffed blonde news anchor. A lean, hooded figure stepped away from the window display and bank of hi-def screens, turning into the gloom. Wisps of white hair wafted like a halo around the hood, captured in momentary sheen beneath dirty street lamps as the figure strode past, his steps wide and determined.

"Oh, I have information, all right." The voice was gruff and the chuckle, dire. He strode briskly down the crumbling sidewalk, turning at a vacant alley. Ducking behind a greasy dumpster, he slipped down into an open sewer access tunnel. His gloved hands drew the iron manhole cover closed as he grunted with the effort. Jack-booted feet descended stained rungs, scratching against rough concrete on the curved tunnel floor. Squeezing through a deeply rusted metal grate and hiking a complex fractal of tunnels, he reached a dead end, a damp and dismal stone room deep beneath the city. Broken only by an occasional drip of foul water, a faint keening permeated the silence... and then another. He walked towards one wall, reached high and pressed a stone which moved imperceptibly but issued a sharp 'click' nonetheless. The wails grew louder.

Pushing through the suddenly pivoting wall, he stood at the head of a long hall, obviously built recently using modern methods, the scent of fresh paint still hanging in the otherwise dank air. Heavy steel doors lined both walls at close intervals, receding into the gloom, featureless but for a small brass ring at the midpoint of each door. He approached the nearest door, placing his eye upon the ring. It was a viewer, and he stared at the scene inside with satisfaction.

Inside a room the size of a jail cell was a man, fortyish and disheveled, laying on an inclined steel table. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, and his growth of beard was perhaps three weeks' old. He was shackled to its surface at his wrists and ankles, and a wide, hinged steel band crimped him at the waist. Heavy electrical wires protruded from beneath the table and disappeared into the gloom. At eye level was a television monitor, and a woman's voice spoke quietly from it. Occasionally she would stop, and in the silence the man would speak, in halting words. He would lurch gently, and then she would speak again.

The hooded figure drifted to another viewer. In this room was a woman, overweight and angry. The restraints cut into her mottled flesh. She shouted vile threats and strained to break her confinement. The television spoke to her as well, and in the waiting silence she responded with an enraged string of epithets.

"Not the right answer, I'm afraid," he chuckled as he watched. The woman's corpulent frame lifted away from the table as 10,000 volts coursed through her, briefly, and her tone changed to a shriek, then a whimper as she begged for release. The calm voice repeated its question and she answered, meekly. The man smiled and walked to another door. "You're learning. Another thousand treatments and you'll be ready." He fit a key from his pocket into the lock and swung the screeching steel door open. He stepped backwards and gestured. Out from the cell stepped a young man, white and stiff as paper, tattered and burned clothing hanging from his skeletal frame, soles torn from his shoes. "Are you ready to help now, young Aaron?"

Aaron's eyes did not meet his gaze but remained cast downward, taking in the details of the filthy floor. In nearly imperceptible tones he said, "Yes... master."

"Call me professor."

"Professor... master."

"Detective, there's another one of those calls!" Patrolman Louis White, the young officer on desk duty waved the receiver in his direction. Detective Charles 'Chuck' Rosston sighed heavily. These potential abduction sightings were coming in nonstop, had little useful information and were largely reported by a cross section of the public that also seemed obsessed with aliens and werewolves. This would be the fifteenth such call he'd fielded today, and he was set to implode.

Tightly he answered the phone. "Rosston." He listened, absently chewing his lower lip-- then sat up, brightening visibly. "Right from the booth? Which one? Video corroboration? Thank you, sir... stay on the line and an officer will get your information," but the line was dead. He spoke to the desk sergeant, who flipped on the mike and clipped, "Two-oh-seven reported at Pensey Toll Booth, mile marker 0ne-six-niner; repeat, 207-- kidnapping-- reported at Pensey Toll Booth, booth seventeen, located at mile marker 169."

Rosston grabbed his jacket, swinging it on as he walked. He pointed to the new cop on desk duty. "White, you're with me. I have to see this for myself." White fell in behind the older man striding towards Motor Pool.

"See what, Detective Rosston?"

"The tip we just received, White-- there's video footage of the latest abduction. Now we've got a solid lead!"

"That's good, right? We're one step closer to finding 'The Snatch'."

Rosston stopped in his tracks, causing White to face-plant himself in the detective's back. Glaring he seethed, "Who's calling him that? We can't use that name, White! Are you retarded? The press would scald us in oil!" He entered the motor poll and received numbered keys, walked to the correct stall and cursed. "Shit. A greeeen car." He spat in disgust.

"59 miles to the gallon!" White chirped. "Saves the city almost 2 million a year, I read."

"Saves the city almost 2 million a year," Rosston mimicked the patrolman. "What are you, a tree-hugger? Go ahead... go make out with that elm there. I'll wait. Lookee... she has a nice crotch."

"I'll shut up now, detective." White sat on the passenger side and changed the subject. "Maybe 'the Vanisher', because nobody sees anything? Or 'the Quiet Kidnapper'. 'The Peopleswiper'?"

"Normally we just let the press make up their own fearmongering name, White. We try not to give them any ammunition for use against the department. You'd know that if you were born, oh, yesterday?"

"Sorry, sir." And a moment later, "Why me?"

"What?"

"I mean... uh... where's your partner? Why am I riding along with you? Shouldn't you be doing that with your partner?"

"Because you're a moron, that's why. Everyone at the station is afraid you're gonna eat your gun by accident, or point it backwards mistakenly and take out your own face. Stupid shit."

White knew the man was goading him, but felt the need to defend himself. "But... I ranked in the 99th percentile! I only missed one head-heart combo in all of training!"

"And that would be the one perpetrator who would cut you down with a Glock."

White offered, "I don't think that's it, detective. I think you're using diversion. C'mon, tell me... where's your partner?" He smiled a little and teased, "Did you kill him? Did he piss you off so bad that you offed him and gave him a concrete grave?"

Rosston's eyes bulged, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel and White feared his taunt would get them both killed untill Rosston said, "She. My partner was a she."

"Was? Is she dead?"

"No, she's not dead, you little twerp. She put in for transfer."

Rosston offered no further explanation and White thought it best not to push the man any further. His reputation at the precinct was frightening, if exaggerated. They drove in silence until White asked, "Why would there be video surveillance?"

Rosston rolled his eyes. "I'm saddled with an idiot! It's an interstate toll platform, White! They're all monitored, across the state! It's law!"

"What I mean is, up until now, he-- whatever we're gonna call him-- hasn't left a shred of evidence. Not a hair, not a skin cell. Why would he suddenly allow his crime to be captured on film?"

Rosston snorted. "A dozen reasons, White. Nobody's that smart being the first one-- everybody slips up sooner or later. Maybe he didn't know there were cameras. Or maybe he's taunting us. After five successful grabs he's gotten overconfident and wants to up the stakes. Or it could be a copycat. It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, we're going to check it out."

They pulled into the Pensey Toll Collection Plaza, first on the scene, and parked by a sign that read 'Office'. The room was deserted even as the highway backed up in both directions with the onset of afternoon rush. "Police! Is there anyone here?" Rosston called in an authoritative, booming voice, pounding his fist on the counter. A door in back opened, and a lone man shuffled towards them. He wore the tolltaker's uniform but didn't look like one, Rosston thought. Too old. His hair was too long also, and stuck out all over his head in white tendrils, like a mad scientist. And who could stand on their feet all day in jack boots? Most tolltakers wore comfortable shoes.

"What can I do for ya, officers?" The man's voice was a hoarse whisper.

Rosston began. "We received a call about another abduction? The caller said you had video evidence?"

"What? An abduction? Here?" The man seemed genuinely confused.

"Yes. Here." Rosston could feel his temper rise. "I spoke to him myself not ten minutes ago. He said it happened right before he called, at toll booth seventeen."

"Nah, can't be. Sorry, detective." He turned to leave.

"Wait! Wait, where do you think you're going? I'm still talking to you!"

The man called over his shoulder, "You're wasting my time! I've got things to do!"

White piped up sternly. "Sir, we're not 'wasting your time'. We received a call and we're investigating that call. We need to see the tapes for toll booth seventeen... now!"

"There are none."

The cops looked at each other, dumbfounded. Rosston seethed, "Why... the hell... not?"

"Because there IS no toll booth seventeen. See for yourself, the window behind you."

Both cops turned and from their vantage point could clearly see toll booths one through sixteen, lined up in a row, eight on one side of the highway, eight on the other. What they could not see was the old man tugging a rope tied under the counter, behind them. And what they could see, for only a fraction of a second, was a heavy wooden handrail swinging down from the ceiling on makeshift cables, just until it contacted both their heads, sending them crumpling to the floor, unconscious.

"Patrolman! Patrolman White, are you okay? What happened here?"

Ouch, White thought, as he gradually pulled himself back into wakefulness. His head stung! When he opened his eyes enough to see through the stars, a pretty young cop was hunched over him, a look of genuine concern on her face. Other cops milled about the office.

"Louie, do you recognize me?" she said, softly. "We went through academy together. Gethers," she said, extending a hand to help him sit up. "Come on... what happened here, White?"

"Gin-nie? Ginnie Gethers? What... are you doing here?" White remembered the sweetly attractive cadet all right but he was still not focused, and felt confused by the commotion going on around him.

"Answering a call, White!" She pulled a coldpack from the kit, shook the chemicals and slapped the frosty bag on his head. He flinched at the shocking pain.

"Umm... We were investigating a tip about another abduction... said it happened here... but it was fake... got hit somehow. Hey!" he shouted, then winced and continued more quietly, "that guy didn't work here!"

"White, you said 'we'. We who?"

"Me and the detective."

Her gaze was unreadable. "You were alone when we arrived. You, and all these unconscious employees in the back room. We're thinking some kind of gas. Not you. You got smacked with something hard, judging by the golfball-sized lump on your noggin."

White snapped around suddenly, ignoring the spiking pain. "Where's Rosston? We were together on this call!"

Gethers spoke into her mike, waited for a response. Then she looked at White somberly. "Rosston's not answering."

White's head dropped; his eyes danced with concentration as he tried to piece together his last moments of wakefulness. "We... were ambushed by some guy... long gray hair, 60's, 180 pounds, 5'11", wearing a tolltaker's uniform and jack boots... the call must have been fake." Realization crossed his face, leaving panic behind on it. "The detective's been kidnapped! We have to get him back!" He struggled to stand.

"Relax, White," she said sharply, and as if struck again he slumped back to the floor. Gethers consoled, "The whole force will be looking for Rosston, don't worry." She lifted him with a trained hand and helped him, protesting, to an arriving ambulance. "Get in, get in. I'm gonna take your statement and stay with you at the hospital. Gotta make sure there's no brain damage," and then whispered, "and maybe a friend of mine can help find him." Shutting the ambulance doors, she pounded on the pass-through door. "Let's take 'er out!"

One wheel of the old cloth laundry cart had the slightest shiver as it spun, jarring the bulky baggage within it. An uneven floor added unwanted motion. The professor grunted as he pushed, but the cart became jammed into a fissure in the crumbling concrete tunnel floor nonetheless, and he could not dislodge it. He hissed, "I need help here, Aaron, quickly!"

He could hear the young man's feet slap the floor as he approached, running, and resolved to get him some new shoes-- a lackey who couldn't walk would be useless to him and he had a litany of errands for the boy. Breathlessly, the young man arrived. "Yes... prof... professor?" he puffed, deep gulping gasps to restore his oxygen balance.

"Oh, good... you could hear me. I wasn't certain the earbuds would conduct well in this labyrinth. Help me with this cart, boy, and bring it to room six. Strap him in and do it before he awakens!"

"Okay... okay... I can do... that." Aaron strained against the cart. It popped out with a satisfying 'chuck', and he rolled it towards the cellroom, leaving the professor behind, who sagged against the wall and wheezed, catching his own breath, feeling his heart beating deliberate protest against his ribcage. He resolved to bring some kind of mechanized cart on the next grab, or at least abscond with a smaller offender. He balked at the idea of taking another person in his condition. There were so many offenders in this city, in this state, in this country that he began to question the intelligence of his plan. How many tens of thousands would he need to modify to even make a dent in this emotionally bankrupt megalopolis? Would the changes even hold, once they were reintegrated back into their normal lives? And would it even issue the intended consequences?

"It has to!" he panted aloud, a sentiment that echoed down the long corridor, echoing and dying before it reached Aaron, who had by that time dumped the sack onto a cold metal examination table. He latched restraints to secure the unconscious figure. The last one snapped into place and he rotated the table to its near-vertical state, and turned on the monitor with a click. Pictorial elements mixed with invisible laser scanning devices commenced... but then stopped.

"Subject appears to be unconscious."

"I know, I know. Proceed with arousal sequence." No sooner had the order passed his lips than the chair began to hum. Aaron stepped away from the table. The sound reached a crescendo, emitting a sharp snap. The man on the table jerked, and grunted but remained out. "Again."

Snap! Grunt. "Again."

"Three is the safe limit for the human body. If it does not work this time you will have to wait an hour."

"I said AGAIN!"

Another snap. This time the man cried out in painful response to electric shock. "Yow!" and then "Ohhh, ow!" and finally, "Where the hell am I?"

The professor approached, sending Aaron away, and moved into the man's limited viewing range. Recognition crossed his face and the man shouted, "You! I'll kill you!" and struggled against his restraints, with futility.

"Don't hurt yourself. Except for that knock on the head, you'll be receiving no further injuries until such time as I see fit to release you, unharmed."

The restrained man ignored him and strained violently against his shackles, to no avail. They were too strong. He was not one to give up without a fight, and struggled again. The professor said softly, "Give the man a warning, sweetheart."

Different from the wake-up pulses, the man now received an enduring, medium strength shock which made him see blue and taste fire. "OwowowowowOWOW! Stop!"

The professor stopped the flow. "Will you be calm now?"

Spitting out burnt saliva, the shackled man resignedly answered. "Yes."

"I said you would not be harmed. I did not specify how much pain you would endure. The computer is learning your behaviors all the time and is trained to act autonomously, should you misbehave again."

"Why am I here, you circus freak?"

"You'll find out soon enough... detective Rosston. Sweetheart, begin the program." The professor left the cell, the thick steel door shutting behind him with a beefy 'clunk'.

Again, scanning devices activated and pictures appeared on the monitor as a stern woman's voice spoke. "Watch the pictures. Don't look away. Answer my questions promptly and truthfully. Do you understand?"

Detective Rosston, closed his eyes tightly and said, "Make me."

"Okay. But keep in mind you are talking to a computer, not a person. I am not governed by the same set of decency parameters. Doubling voltage and time."

WAIT!" He opened his eyes. "You win. I understand."

An enormous charge poured through him for what seemed like an eternity. When it ended he asked, gasping and soaked, "Wh- why?"

"Because I wanted to. Now watch the pictures." Images plastered the screen, one after another and he watched, uncomprehending. An ape? An airplane? Ice cream? A clown? None of it made any sense to him. Then she spoke. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap."

"Are you horrified or happy? Horny or heroic? How do you feel?" she repeated.

He was afraid to get it wrong. "C-confused." He got zapped but only a little, and only on the soles of his feet. It tickled, but he feared laughing. The pictures continued. A rainbow, and a race car, and an apple, and a policeman. More questions, more unexplainable zaps in unusual locations. It was as if an electrode was passing over him, but he had no way of knowing... he could only see the screen. Zap, small of the back. Za-ap, back of the knees. ZAP! That one hit him straight in the testicles and he flinched, and gasped.

"Pay attention! Watch the screen."

"I have to piss."

"So piss."

"Right here? On myself?"

"What are you, a little girl?" she mocked. "You're not moving until you get this, detective Rosston. There's a drain in the floor, and..." he was very suddenly drenched with a hundred gallons of lukewarm water. She continued, "we've provided for your, ahem, sanitary needs as well."

Rosston spit as he spoke, rivulets of water streaming from his lips. "Get WHAT? All you've done is show me unconnected pictures and asked ridiculous questions! 'Is my left or right arm heavier? Which way is my brain pointing? How do I spell a whistling sound?' I don't get any of this!"

"I predict you will... but whether it takes a week, or ten years, I can't yet determine. Now watch the screen."

En route to the hospital, White was beginning to feel like his old self. Gethers had bandaged his wound and given him some pills to swallow, and the pain was slipping away, yet leaving him alert and thinking. Now he was forming a lot of questions about events of the last hour: Where was the detective? Who was the kidnapper? How did an ambulance arrive so quickly after the police did?

Why was a cop dressing his wounds and giving him medication, and not an EMT... even if it were a spectacularly beautiful cop? He wanted answers but Gethers was unavailable, with her head stuck through the front pass-through, speaking to the driver he presumed. He struggled to sit up but was buckled down, so found the clasp and released himself, swinging his feet off the gurney. He now had front row tickets to Ginnie's lovely hind quarters, swaying suggestively with each bump and turn of the ambulance. Forcing his eyes from what could become an embarrassing exposition he stood a bit unsteadily and approached her. He could hear her talking with another woman, the driver he supposed, so waited for a break in their conversation to interrupt.

"Hey, Gethers..." he began, but her sudden behavior cut him off. She stiffened and jerked upward, smacking her head against the door frame. White realized too late he must have surprised her. "Oh! Sorr..." again he stopped short, for she whirled to face him, sandwiching her body between him and the pass-through, and slid the metal door shut with a swoosh.

But not before he got a good look at the driver... or more accurately, a good look at the empty seat where a driver should have been! The ambulance was driverless!

He stared at her. His face must have communicated his suspicion because she stammered, "It's an ex- experi-mental, umm, ambulance..."

This time he cut her off, assembling the pieces in his mind. "What's going on here, Gethers? I'm in an ambulance with no EMTs, and no driver," he stressed, and she lowered her gaze. "Are we even going to a hospital? What are you into, huh? It's not like I didn't notice things were always a little strange around you, back at the academy, the way you always kept to yourself, talked to yourself, and always got top marks with every test..." He repeated sternly, "What's going on?"

Her gaze came back up. There was no doubt on her face... her eyes were steel. She said evenly, "This information is between us. It doesn't leave this ambulance, understood?" He stared silently at her lovely face, her saucer-round hazel eyes and bouncing honey-blonde curls and hoped that whatever she were into, it would not get him fired. He nodded, tersely.

"I'm not with the Force."

He wasn't expecting that! She continued, "I mean I am... I passed the Academy as you know and am on the job fully... but I'm with a different Agency and have another goal." She grabbed his forearms with strong fingers. "I'm undercover, Louie. I'm here to bring down the Snatch."

The Snatch! Nobody called him that but White... and she knew it! He had no idea how she knew, but it already gave her credibility well beyond her crinkling, beautiful smile. "You already know his identity?"

"Yes." Just the single word... confident, straightforward.

"Who?"

"Nobody known out here... which is why I need to get him back. I could use your help, Louie." She tightened her grip on his arms. "Will you help me?"

He had no choice-- regardless of her question, the answer would have been the same. "Of course," he said. "But... what do you mean, 'nobody known out here'? Where is he from?"

Her eyes narrowed. She furrowed her brow and leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, and then breathed, "I can't tell you." She backed up and began pacing. "I mean I can tell you, but you wouldn't recognize the name... it's high on the government classified list."

White's eyes grew round. "Y- you mean he's from area 51?"

"If I had said he was from area 51 would you have recognized that?" she chided.

"Yes," he admitted.

"So it isn't that, then."

Her logic was flawless. "Well, then how about Aden?"

It was her turn to be surprised. "How... how...?"

In his top pocket he removed an old page, well worn and oft-folded, handed it to her. She opened it carefully, read it. "Why do you have this brochure?"

"I found it in my mailbox last year. I thought it was a cruel joke at first, but something about it rang true. An end to fear and misery? It would not only be like heaven on Earth... it would be overrun and destroyed if it really existed. Unless it were kept..."

"Kept a deep secret?" she finished, and he nodded.

She nodded also, studying his face. He studied hers as well, and permitted himself a deep gasp, and spoke in a whisper. "So it... really exists? Aden is real?"

"Yes."

He felt the blood rush from his head and he sagged, catching himself against the wall. "Where is it?"

"I shouldn't say. For now. But it's less than fifteen minutes from here, should the decision be made to grant you access."

"Impossible! You read the brochure-- it's a city of 100,000! Where could a city that size fit in this megalopolis without being discovered?"

"That's an old brochure, Louie... it's half a million now. A little more, even."

"The only place you could put that sized city fifteen minutes from here... is underground! Is it an underground city, Ginnie?" He looked at her with incredulity. "Are you a mole person?"

She issued a lilting laugh. "No and no, Louie. I'm 100% mole-free. All I can say is that it depends on which mode of transportation you use, how far you can travel in fifteen minutes." She teased, "How far can you go being shot from a cannon?"

He was about to attempt a smartass answer when the ambulance stopped, and a voice came through the onboard speaker. It was the warm female voice speaking to Ginnie earlier. "We have arrived at garage 187."

"Thank you, Jolie." Ginnie opened the ambulance and White saw they were indoors, indeed a large garage of some kind; it was made of old brick, from early last century, gauging by their shape and decay. There were many vehicles parked in here, perhaps a hundred, of all types... of all service types. Fire trucks, water, power and gas vehicles... and a full cross section of current police vehicles were here, too. The building was otherwise deserted; not another living soul was in evidence besides them.

They exited the ambulance, which rolled away on its own once the doors were closed, finding its parking spot and snuggling in. White noticed there was no room to open any doors-- all the vehicles were parked so tightly together-- and he wondered if they were all electronically controlled autonomous vehicles. Seemingly in response, a city sewer truck roared to life and pulled out, stopping in front of them.

"What? Really? Are you certain?" White turned to Gethers who, with one hand up to her ear, appeared to be on the phone although he could see no device. She finished, "If you say so," and stepped into the back. She glanced at him. "What are you waiting for? Get in!" White hopped nimbly onto the truck's rear bumper and with another step stood beside her. "Hold on up there." He saw and grabbed a loop reminiscent of old leather subway straps, not usually present in sewer trucks. A quick look confirmed this truck was not actually a service vehicle -- there were no tools or supplies. Instead, both walls were outfitted with an impressive array of electronic gear, none of which were familiar to him.

The truck jerked into gear; he strained against the strap to remain upright. Gethers was sitting at a console station and reached into a drawer. "Here, put this in, Louie." She tossed him a small white device shaped like cone incense and pointed at his ear. Inserting it point-first, he was surprised that it began shifting, wormlike, form-fitting to his ear canal. Ambient sounds shrunk away as it sealed; but with a delicate click he could hear normally again. And then came the voice.

"Hello, Louis Atilla White, junior. "

It was the driver, Jolie. "Umm… hello?" He wasn't sure how else to respond. And he certainly didn't know how she was familiar with his long-buried middle name; he had despised it so much as a child that he refused to acknowledge it. Now it had been legally expunged for nearly a decade.

"So you know about Aden, do you?"

He admitted, "Not much. Sounds awesome, though."

"It has its moments. And for you, now is one of those moments. Find a seat and allow me to brief you."

White plopped down into a firmly mounted chair and the monitor before him glowed, showing images as she spoke in a perfectly timed slide presentation.

"You are about to be briefed on the Aden/Outerworld Infiltration Program. I'm your guide, Jolie." He wondered if she were sitting at a station in Aden, controlling the presentation, auto-driving the vehicles. She continued, "Today's mission: Retrieval of rogue Adener, codenamed the Snatch."

He nickered lightly and she said, "Yes, well coined, Officer White. I hope you didn't twist your arm patting your back." White shut up and she continued. "As you have read, Aden is a private, hidden city following a radically new social system called Perfect World, which has successfully ended the fear and misery running rampant in current society. It is a system best run by people who are born into it, but can and does work with transplants, provided those people are already receptive to such a change.

"For the rare few, we use an extensive education process called podschooling, which is a one-on-one system used for both teaching and learning, for in Aden we must understand you as well as you understand us. Transparency-- it's how the system works.

"Perfect World was created by a man known only as the Founder, and his two protégés. One was a brilliant inventor and was tasked with designing unique products to sell on the open market, which would then provide the initial capital for Aden's construction. The other was a natural leader and brought in large numbers of members, as well as providing the inspiration necessary to keep the project alive during its early inception.

"These two men, both found on college campuses by the Founder, had very different beliefs on how Perfect World Theory should flourish. One believed that only a small percentage of people were right for it at the outset, and that others might never come to believe its concepts. The other, however, felt it was within his technical ability to turn ordinary, faulted people into Perfect Worlders."

She paused and White offered, "And that's who the Snatch is?"

"Yes. I am loathe to say this, but he must be considered dangerous… he has caused grievous injury, and even though it was in self-defense it is considered by Adeners to be an abhorrent and irrevocable act. And yet we want him to be brought back to us, uninjured."

"Why? Why not let him face his punishment here?" White was clear in his thinking -- cause a crime, face a punishment. It was what he was taught, and was what he believed. Gethers looked up from her monitor, giving him the slightest of admonishing pouts, to his surprise.

"If it served to solve the problem, we would certainly give your system of jurisprudence a chance to work. But the simple truth is, your jails are not designed to implement any corrections. They are simply secure long-term storage facilities, and in doing so actually tend to harm the prisoners, making them more likely to commit crimes following release. Our Podschool education on the other hand has proven quite effective at permanently altering a person's motivational characteristics. We have seen former criminals become model citizens in Aden."

'What does The Snatch hope to achieve?" White asked

"We believe he is planning a national, radical changeover to Perfect World, and wants it to happen in his lifetime, rather than in the projected 200 year time period. His rather inefficient strategy has been to imprison people who exhibit the worst antisocial behavior, and then 'fix' his 'guests' using a bastardized version of the Podschool teaching process, implementing negative reinforcement to gain early control."

"What type of negative reinforcement?" White asked, concerned.

"Among other things... electroshock." White winced. He hated shocks.

"Got him!" Gethers yelled. White turned to look at the monitor, which was displaying a city grid. In the center glowed a pulsing yellow light.

"Is that him?" White asked.

"Probably not. But it is a piece of our technology. All Aden energy sources emit a distinctive radiomagnetic signature when running. We've found his lab! Woooo!" Gethers hollered like a member of the dog pound, but broke off mid-whoop and sat rather suddenly. White guessed that Jolie was chewing her out for nonprofessional behavior.

"Time to be a hero, hero," White heard in his ear. "Suit up. It's mission time. You two are on point."

Suit up? White glanced around the truck for anything remotely suity, but Gethers was already moving to a tall metal cabinet behind the driver's seat, pulling and twisting and giving the handle a peculiar shake to open it. She tossed him a large nylon bag cinched with a spring anchor; she took another. Inside was a full set of department-issue combat gear. Her gear was already on before he could widen the cinch ring enough to remove his gear.

She watched him struggle, amused. "Having trouble with that? Good thing you didn't try the door handle."

"Yeah. What was that about-- does Aden really have broken handles?"

She grinned and pressed a hidden flange on his bag and it fell open, exposing its contents. "No. Aden doesn't use locks, so to discourage unqualified people from stumbling into dangerous machinery we designed special 'combination handles'. Only the people trained on them know how to open the door. Think of it as a fraternity handshake." Watching him struggle with the unique garb, she helped with,"The zipper goes in front."

Sheepishly he replied, "Thanks. What is this?" He held a small charge towards her.

Sharply she said, "Be careful with that! That's Spooge, and you only ever want to point it towards an attacker. It's some bothersome stuff."

He was about to ask what Spooge was when Jolie said to them both, "We're right over the entry point. I'll keep your position updated and you can set the trap."

White asked, "What trap?"

By way of explanation Gethers reached down between his legs and pulled hard on a handle in the floor, causing a section of the deck to pivot upwards and slide left. White could see a manhole. Gethers gave him a long steel hook; he pivoted the manhole cover up and to the side. "What's the plan?"

She mouthed 'Sh!', pointing down the shaft. He nodded. She whispered, "We're gonna set a Spooge booby trap for whoever goes down there. When it goes off we'll be alerted and with luck it'll be the Snatch."

Easy enough, whatever Spooge is, White thought. It sounded offensive, or erotic. He followed her down the rung ladder. At the bottom she flipped a light on her helmet and... it was still inky black. Then she pointed, reached up and levered her visor into place. White did the same and the tunnel was suddenly bright! She breathed, "UV enabling visor."

With Jolie providing curt directions (Left here. 40 feet. Hole in floor.) they navigated the complicated tunnel array and emerged into a new section through an area of broken wall. Doors lined both sides. Jolie navigated them to the first doorway. It was a small room, empty but for a suspended computer console, and a metal exam table.

Gethers pulled several Spooge paks from a pouch and began mounting them along the ceiling and floor. White set his like hers until they met at the back wall. Just then Jolie crackled in their ears, her signal muddled. "Ge- --t! R-p--t sn--ch..." and then she was gone.

"What was that?" White hissed.

From the doorway a gruff voice answered, "That was your dear computer, trying to warn you through a dampening field that I have suddenly shown up," and he stepped forward slightly. White immediately recognized him as the man from Pensey toll plaza. "You!" he yelled and took a step towards the man. Gethers grabbed his arm but it was too late. A dozen soft 'pops' filled the room and suddenly he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't move. The room was filled to every corner with a white, stiff foam that held them both completely immobile. So this was Spooge! Bothersome stuff indeed. 

He feared suffocation would be his fate but when he inhaled he marveled at how oxygen filled his lungs just fine. A voice filled his head as The Snatch commandeered Jolie's communication line. "I overheard the computer's briefing and it was very complete, very inspirational... but it made one error, a grave one. It was correct that I have been gathering the right people, but it does not know the reason why. I'm not doing this to make them into perfect Adeners. I can't imagine why it thought I would! One at a time? Now that would take forever!"

White wanted to shout at the man, did in fact, but Spooge muffled his anger at the source. The Snatch continued, "I'm not turning them into Adeners... I'm turning them into technicians!" He laughed, a gravelly rasp that came from the devil himself... until it ended in a painful, spittle-laced cough. The Snatch wheezed and choked and White feared he would die right then and leave them trapped in the Spooge forever, but he soon caught his breath and finished. "I have built hundreds of these rooms all over the city. I may not be able to rapidly churn out Adeners on my own... but add a few thousand capable technicians and I'll change this city's profile completely in a few short months!"

White paled at The Snatch's plan. He did not understand what a Podschool was, exactly, but envisioning that madman turning an entire city of people, many of whom were friends and family and lovers into vacuous mind-wiped robots enraged him, and he struggled harder to free himself. The Spooge gave a little, the way squeezing a child's play ball might, but sprung back unaffected after his effort. He was about to try again when he felt pressure on his wrist and realized Ginnie was still holding him! She squeezed again, and then again, and White recognized a coded message. H-A-V-E P-L-A-N R-E-L-A-X.

He sighed relief for he was planless, and coded back O-K by tightening his fist, which he hoped she could feel.

The Snatch chuckled. "And I want to thank you two for coming to me and being my very first 'volunteers'! You will both become my trusted technicians, and your sacrifice will bring Perfect World en masse to our country in just a few years, and I'll be able to retire and watch the rest of the world become a better place under our guidance. Again."

A searing sound came from beside him which grew louder by the second and White feared the crazy bastard was about to fry his brain, but moments later the Spooge between he and Gethers vanished into a puff of white dust and settled on the floor, leaving the two of them relatively free, in an open pocket within the larger cube of Spooge. Gethers' hand bolted to his ear and pulled out the earbud, and her own, and snapped them into a container.

"Good. Now he can't hear us."

"What did you do?" White was impressed with his partner's abilities and felt even closer to her than before.

"Spooge Reversal Spray. You have a can, also, right there," and she nudged him on the leg. "My hand was on it when he triggered the trap, the sneaky bastard."

"Brilliant. Now what?"

"We'll dissolve the Spooge rapidly, and as soon as it clears I'll zap him with this." She ripped a velcro tab and pulled out a small device the size and shape of a 9-volt battery.

"An Energizer bunny?" He seemed doubtful.

She snorted. "No. This is a Plasma Generator. It shoots a ball of low-amp lightning that'll knock him out immediately."

White shook his head. In a half hour he had learned more about Aden than he had during the past year and felt a wide range of emotions he had not expected. The end result, Perfect World, he anticipated with breathless excitement, but the means through which this change must occur had him feeling conflicted, maybe even petrified. Why must change always come at such a dear price, he wondered, even as they were coordinating their spray can rebuttal. He gazed at her as she counted down, mouthing the numbers 'three' and then 'two'. White reacted, moments before their surprise attack, with an attack of his own. She began to mouth the number 'one', scrunching her lips together... and he kissed that soft knot of warm, sweet lip, drawing her in for all his might with his free arm, sending through that kiss all the emotions he had been feeling this day, including the special one that had been brewing in the back of his mind. This emotion.

"Ohh, Ginnie..."

He was taken aback at her reaction. He was not at all certain that she felt the way he did, and was almost sure that she didn't... but as soon as their lips touched she pressed herself against him, all warmth and softness and curves but, as quickly as she started, broke it off. She smiled and mouthed, 'GO!'

He was ready. They shot their Spooge Reversal cans toward the obscured doorway, and Gethers pointed the Plasma Generator forward, waiting for visual target confirmation.

She never got the chance. The Spooge dissolved, the doorway appeared... and the Snatch wasn't there. They entered the hallway, covering left and right in formation-- but fell to the ground, unconscious.

The old man stepped out from the next room and chuckled. Aaron rolled out two gurneys and loaded the prone figures on, sliding them off the electrified pressure plates under their bodies.

"Put them in rooms Seven and Eight. Start the treatments as soon as they awaken."

"Yes, Professor."

END OF PART ONE

Copyright 2011 Bruce Ian Friedman