Infiltration

Perfect World Story (The NOW)

Water bubbled through the apartment building's dilapidated pipes, picking up rust and sediment along the way, ultimately bursting from the shower head of one Lawrence T Keller, HVAC subcontractor, depositing fine silt into his thinning salt-and-pepper curls. Warm water choked through, largely rinsing the reddish silt away as it burbled and spat a semblance of spray to rinse the effort of another night's work off his burly frame. Twisting the hot water valve to its fullest, he pressed his forehead against the cool and faded pink tile of the shower enclosure, allowing the heat to penetrate his tight and aching shoulders, twin rivers tracing down his muscular back, bringing with it momentary relief from complaining middle-aged muscles.

This job was a good one, but as with all good things there were tangible tradeoffs. It was night work, beginning at 5 pm sharp; elevators were loading with tradesmen as rumpled business suits were streaming out on their way to rush hour traffic, and ultimately home. The work was hard until 2 am, with only a 30 minute break for 'lunch', but the benefit was triple his normal rate, and for the foreseeable future to boot.

But oh, the strain to his body! Rerouting air ducts, crawling between beams and ceilings and walls, twisting into odd pretzel shapes to snap sections together, adding diverters and mounting thermostatic baffles made his entire body scream by quitting time. Baths were good but his apartment didn't have one; the separation had been tough on him. Not because of his wife; he was glad to be rid of that shrieking harpy... but because of his treasured thirty-six jet spa tub, installed lovingly with his own hands into their master bathroom. In three months since the 'egress' his only relief had been the weekly trips downtown to Mae's House of Hands, a straight-up massage parlor that worked his aching back so thoroughly it put him into a near blackout state, but at least left him feeling somewhat alive for a couple of days afterwards. If he could afford nightly massages in his home he'd do it, but that would eat up most of the profits from working these godawful hours.

Keller dried off and hung a robe over his shoulders, belt dangling... there was nobody to be modest for in this cramped efficiency. He threw a Swanson dinner into the nuke and switched on the television, ice cold brew in one hand and a fattie in the other. He took a pull from the bottle and ignored a thin stream of beer and lip drool that lay down across the once-white terrycloth; he lit the joint and took a long draw, placing it into his auto-out ashtray. He coughed. Toke in, hack out.

The channel was showing an old Gilligan's Island; he watched for a moment, pondering if the smoky Ginger's tits would really be that nose-coney without the scary bullet bra. Then it was just the Skipper and his 'lil buddy' and Keller was immediately bored. He flicked around a bit; at two in late night the airwaves were a little thin, and all his reserved programming was on a DVR at the house, probably already erased by the bitch, his black thought.

The microwave dang.

He brought the steaming black plastic tray over in his calloused but heat-sensitive hands and dropped it onto a TV stand next to the only chair in the room... the only chair in the apartment, actually. He had grabbed it from the house as a 'fuck you' to Arlene -- it was one half of a set she had picked out and their family room was seriously unbalanced without it, feng-shui-wise, anyway -- and it was always his favorite place to sleep when she kicked him out of the bedroom so it was a double whammy to her.

Gobbling down the last few strands of his spaghetti and meatballs, he glanced at the TV. It was an infomercial-- it said as much at the bottom next to the 800 number-- but the words 'daily massage' flashed several times, grabbing his eye. He aimed the remote and the volume kicked up.

The dashing Southern salesman was intoxicated with his product, it was obvious -- his bolo tie whipped about as he hopped from side to side, all smiles and gestures. "...and never has to be installed by professionals! That's right, we deliver it to you -- free, of course -- set it up wherever you want, and it's good to go! The MultiSpa is your number one solution for sore, tired, aching muscles! It's like a masseuse in a closet-shaped box!..."

Keller's eyes widened and he stopped chewing, his last bits of dinner mashed and waiting to be swallowed, stippled around his mouth like a murder scene. The MultiSpa came into view. It was a large white fiberglass box with rounded corners; sleek, like the skin of a jet plane. The salesman put light pressure on the logo which released the door latch, and the camera floated inside.

It was a large shower stall, peppered with intricate inserts embedded in the moulded walls. There were no visible knobs to be seen, but a smooth section at eye level soon glowed, revealing a control screen the size of an iPad. Keller watched as a bikini-clad model entered the unit and shut the watertight door. Through television trickery he could see as if there were no wall. The monologue continued:

"Once inside, you can program any environment of your choosing; thousands can be downloaded at our website. From a tranquil glen--"

Suddenly the walls inside were replaced with a realistic projection and the attractive model was beside a gentle brook in the sunny woods. Sounds of life filled the unit-- a woodpecker, rustling trees, a merry songbird. Crickets.

"--to an alien landscape, whatever mood you wish, can be fulfilled. And that's only the beginning! The MultiSpa is also a fully functioning cleansing unit. And 'shower stream' is only one of two hundred different settings. Would you prefer a fine mist? A torrential rainstorm? Perhaps a hurricane? However you want your water to fall, it will do so!"

At each example the model endured those conditions. Water came from all directions during the hurricane, pitching the willowy woman about noticeably. The wall scenes changed as well, placing her in the desert, by the beach and in a windswept savannah. But more surprises held Keller's attention.

"But you want a Jacuzzi, you say? Look no further! One touch on the infoPad and you get your wish!"

A seat formed from the enclosure's smooth wall; as she sat, the spa filled with water to her shoulders in 10 seconds flat and jets whipped the water into a violent froth. Camera angles showed them changing direction to concentrate on specific muscle groups; her skin depressed noticeably under the water pressure and Keller smiled, imagining the pleasure.
The phone jangled.
He twitched. It was late -- what son of a bitch could be calling at this hour? He checked the ID -- it was Donald James, his co-worker and, at this point in his life, his only friend. "It's goddamn late, Don! What the hell--"
"Turn on your TV! You gotta see this!"
"I'm already watching TV."
"Channel 352!"
Keller went to change and stopped -- he was on 352 already. "The spa?"
"Yeah! I saw this last night but forgot to mention it... I want one!"
Keller did also, but being a contractor made him wary and questions were emerging, rising to the surface like the bubbles onscreen. "Man, that sucker must use a lot of water... and the power requirements for pumps and heaters must be serious!"
"Just wait!" Donald sounded giddy.

The sharply suited, silver-tongued salesman smiled a toothy grin. "About this time I bet you're wondering how much this baby costs to operate... but you better sit down, because you're gonna be floored by the answer! Not only does the Multispa not cost anything to operate... it earns you thousands of dollars a year!" His tan and toothy face looked right into the camera and smiled, blinding viewers. "I know... it sounds like total bull hockey, right? Let me show you how we do it!"

The MultiSpa returned as the outside skin peeled back in a neat graphic, and the unit rotated to show its back side. An astonishing assortment of tech greeted his eyes, much of it completely unfamiliar to him even though he had assembled hundreds of spas by hand. "Will you look at all of that... kilterscrabble!"
"Impressive, right?"
Keller had to grudgingly admit that it was.

"This here's the guts of our unit. Notice this big tank. That's the water reservoir... 150 gallons worth. The heat gang runs around the whole spa, as does the pressurized zephyr accumulator and the five-intensity misting unit. Down here's the filtration plant, and over here the recycling pump platform." He appeared in a bubble in one corner of the screen. "I can see the realization on your faces... you're beginning to understand what makes the MultiSpa special... but I'll say it nonetheless."
Keller's mouth had been dropping, slowly, as the unit's complexity became clear; he hinged it shut and gasped, "It... doesn't... use up water?"
Donald chuckled over the phone. "Check this out!"
"That's right... we've perfected clean water 'Aguacycle' technology -- this unit runs completely on recycled water!  After the MultiSpa is filled -- with an ordinary garden hose -- the water is cleaned and reused thousands of times!"

By way of demonstration he brought out a pitcher of gray bathtub water and poured it into the filtration unit; as it trickled through it became sparkling clear again... and then he drank it! Keller's stomach lurched.
The salesman smiled. "Ahh... refreshing! Tastes like Evian! But I know you won't believe me until you try it for yourself... which you can, at any point-of-purchase display nationwide. And bring your own water!"

"Can that technology be real?" Keller asked, rubbing his eyes.
"I saw a TED talk on it a few months ago, so I'm gonna say yes."
"All right. I see it doesn't waste water. But the power... come on! Heating all that water and moving it at such a high volume burns up the juice!"
"You're asking the right questions at the right time," Donald chuckled.
Keller noticed the salesman's name on the screen for the first time and nodded appreciatively -- this technological miracle was beginning to make sense. The man was Jacob Reston, who wasn't a salesman at all. He was the CEO of FutureTech, the corporation that had been taking the nation by storm for the last few years. Whenever a new product promised to be low-maintenance, economical and ecologically sound, it was a good bet that it had been manufactured by FutureTech. Their track record was impeccable -- they had just introduced a daring new building material with properties that were lighter, stronger, more durable and flexible than steel... and was manufacturing it exclusively in the United States, creating a huge new industry and thousands of stateside jobs as well. Keller was on board with him for that patriotic choice alone.
Reston continued. "Let's move on to power consumption." He walked over to a window and stuck his head through-- the camera did the same through another window. Between them was a flat rectangular unit hanging on the brick wall, the thickness and size of a bath mat. "This unit comes with the MultiSpa. It's a high-transduction solar panel, able to convert 89% of the sunlight hitting it into pure electricity. It does this all day long. If you didn't use the MultiSpa this panel would, by itself, provide all the power needed for a one bedroom apartment."

The scene changed and now Reston was outside of Las Vegas at sunset. Not a light was flashing anywhere in the city -- it was being engulfed by the gloom of night. Standing amid a carpet of solar panels laid onto the desert sand, he had one hand on the throw switch of a large circuit breaker box. "I asked the good people of Sin City to let me power the Strip for one day and they happily agreed -- daily electrical costs average $30 million dollars for all of those casinos. We've connected 100,000 panels and let them suck up a day's worth of sun -- let's see what they can do!"
With that he strained at the throw switch and snapped it on. As he did, Vegas jumped to life. Every strip of neon shone, every twinkling bulb began its cycle, and the city was itself again. Reston smiled. "All of Las Vegas... powered with a blanket of solar panels twice the size of a city block!"
Keller had to close his mouth again. Doing some mental calculations he figured to save almost $2000 a year in electrical costs with one of those panels. This MultiSpa was looking more and more like a 'must have'! "Don, I'm about to call the number on the screen and I don't even know how much it costs yet!"
"You might want to wait... and sit down. Here it comes." Donald sounded dejected.
Reston concluded, "I've made you wait all infomercial for this. What's this wonderful new piece of luxurious necessity going to set you back? What would we charge for a machine which cleans you squeaky, and massages every muscle with surprising accuracy, and also serves as a professional therapeutic physical therapy station?"
Without pause he said, "Thirty thousand dollars."
Keller exhaled heavily. Thirty K? How in the hell was he going to swing that? That was more than 6 months of salary at his current rate, and more money than he had in the bank by a factor of... 30,000. He felt like crying.
"Hit you hard, huh?" Donald said in his ear, surprising him. He had forgotten about the phone.
"Crushed me. Now I want to hock my work truck for it."

"Hold off on destroying your career for a minute. There's more."
Reston had run a comical graphic of the audience keeling over following the price reveal, and was chuckling onscreen. With a wink he said, "A lot of money, I know. But this would be, far and away the most complex piece of technology in your home. And considering what it can do for your aching muscles, sore backs and misaligned joints, I'm sure you know it would be money well spent. Now I know for many of you this would be more necessity than luxury, so I'll tell you what. If there's no way you could ever afford the MultiSpa, there's a good chance you could win one... for free! Go to the website you see on the screen and apply... if you're one of the 100 lucky winners, you'll get to take one of these babies home!"
Donald yelled, "Did you hear that? There's a raffle!"
"Shut up! I'm trying to write the URL!"



The infomercial faded to black. Slowly the lights came up in the large hall, exposing the 852 members of Aden's Infiltration League. On the central stage a man began speaking. It was Jake Reston.
"Well, that's it. Now the whole country has seen it. The website should be lit up like a Christmas Tree before long."

"What's a 'Christmas Tree'?" one of the audience members called out, and polite laughter spread throughout the room. Jake laughed as well.
"I know, I know. I'm a fossil. That doesn't change the fact that we may have millions of potential new inhabitants before this is all over."
"We're going to have to triple the size of the city, in that case."
"I have a better plan." Reston stopped, gazed out at the sea of bright Perfect Worlders listening with rapt attention. He was gratified the World Family had gotten this far, but feared having the best and brightest concentrated into one small area of the country. He'd been up late with the Founder and the Brain Trust for the last few weeks, detailing the plan they called 'Operation: Infiltration' and he was about to give a hall full of people an awful lot to do. "You all are about to find out what you volunteered for."
"We're all going into Outer cities to test everyone for Perfect World potential," one person said.
"We'll be making podschool testing centers for them to visit," said another.
"We'll sell MultiSpas to anyone who can afford them but aren't right for Aden," yelled a third from the back.
"We'll be creating a dual citizenship in each city, complete with our own infrastructure, bringing fully functioning Perfect World ideals into the Outer cities for the first time," said a young woman in front.
Jake fell into his chair, bowled over. "I guess we made you too smart!" he chuckled. "Correct, on every count. Pair up, people. There are 426 city and town centers with Aden-owned buildings in dire need of remodeling. Construction crews from Aden, along with extensive building materials, are on their way right now. Each team will be heading up one podschool test center. Remember, only one person in 10,000 will be exactly right for Perfect World, but there will be another thousand that are almost right. Your jobs are to urge those the rest of the way, set them up in housing and specialized work to broaden the Perfect World program into every city and major town in America."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"I won't lie... it's going to become increasingly dangerous as our detractors find out about our plans. But I'm less worried about the rich and the religious learning about it, than I am about another group."
"The Solarmen." Nearly everyone in the room murmured the same name.
"Yes. They know enough about our plans to be dangerous. In a worst case scenario, they could bring about our destruction." The room gasped. "But I have an ace or two up my sleeve, so don't worry your heads about it. Just..." Reston looked at each of them somberly. "Just keep your eyes peeled, and listen."
Each member of the Infiltration League stood up and filed out of the room, their brows knitted with concern. Jake had spoken, and they heard him.

As did a tiny electronic microphone buried against the wall between two sound panels, and it broadcasted as far as its minuscule power supply could reach... about fifteen feet. It was far enough, however, to reach through the wall to another infinitesimal broadcasting mike. That one in turn sent its message directly to a third, the third a fourth and so on, every fifteen feet for dozens of miles, to a microwave transmitter disguised in a rock outside Aden Security perimeter. That device sent a blast of information up to a satellite, which redirected the signal back to Earth, and was picked up by the Covert Service Division of the Solarmen, outside of Washington, DC.
A runner stopped at the impressive supercomputer, somewhat out of breath. "We have information from the Nanostream, sir."
The man looked up from his monitor, absently running hands through a wiry copse of wild white hair. Wordlessly he read the communiqué. A smile spread across his face, slithering from ear to ear like a snake seeking a meal. Bulbous gray teeth peered out between pale chalk lips and he began to giggle; quietly, ending with a snort. It gave the younger man chills.
He spoke. "We can finally begin. Tell Renfrew to download the Worm."
"Renfrew? We have a Renfrew?"
"Uhh, Smith. Private joke."
"Very good, sir." The runner disappeared.
The white-haired man returned to his monitor, pressing keys with a deliberate 'chock'. Staring over his glasses at the result, he huffed in approval, mumbling to himself. "Always a savior, huh, Reston? The Worm should mix things up a bit for you. Let's see how the world likes your little shower... once it's programmed to drown."

Copyright 2011 Bruce Ian Friedman