Loadstar 188/188.d81/He Also Serves

Text File | 2000-01-01 | 18.4 KB | 572 lines

       H E   A L S O   S E R V E S

           by Fender Tucker

    Chapter One: Richard Blaine

    Rick Blaine woke up and wondered
what day it was. Squinting, he looked
through the bedroom door at the
screen on the wall of the living
room. 9:10 am, Sunday, July 5, 2047.
He felt amazingly good, considering
what kind of a day he had yesterday.
He ran a hand through his few strands
of hair and walked the three steps to
the bathroom where he did his usual
morning rituals, humming the verse to
"As Time Goes By" over and over, even
as he brushed his teeth with
Calhoon's toothpaste.
    Then he went back in the bedroom
and laid back down on the bed,
completely nude, and stared at the
ceiling. He felt damn good! And he
saw no reason for doing anything more
than just spending a quiet day at the
apartment, watching some wall, having
a little supper and just taking it
easy. He deserved it after all he had
been through lately.
    His body was filled with
lassitude but his mind was clear. As
he closed his eyes, smiling, he
thought back on what he had recently
experienced. All of it was crystal
sharp, almost as if he were reliving
it -- meeting Ilsa again after all
these years, getting the letters of
transit, dealing with Major Strasser
and Captain Renault, seeing Ilsa and
Victor off at the airport... He went
over it in detail in his mind,
remembering how it was in Paris,
before the Germans came...
    As it had happened, he
remembered, it had been tense, and
frustrating, and full of self-pity.
But for a while he thought that he
and Ilsa might have a chance, and
then last night... But looking back
on it, especially as good as he felt
physically and mentally, it seemed
more ironic than sad, more
adventurous than stressful.
    He spent the next four hours on
his bed, reliving his past life, with
the events of the past week in
Casablanca, and the time he and Ilsa
had spent in Paris most clear and
immediate, but with hundreds of other
memories of other exploits --
journeys, cases, love affairs,
dangers -- lurking in the background.
He had done so much in his lifetime!
    It was around two pm when he got
up and headed into the living room.
He lived in a normal-sized apartment
for Cableville, the living room
measuring 3 meters by 3 meters,
plenty big enough for his recliner
and reward box, and of course, wall
screen. The bedroom was a little
smaller, having only a single bed in
it. The bathroom was big enough for a
throne, a lavatory and a showerstall.
The kitchen was the smallest room,
with only a microwave oven in the far
wall.
    Dodging the recliner he headed
into the kitchen. The microwave had a
packet inside, as he knew it would,
and he pressed the big red button
above the oven. Two seconds later he
opened the door and took out the
packet, tore off a seal and tilted it
to his mouth. Malted Oneirine, just
the ticket! He had gotten so used to
the spicy delicacies of Morocco that
on this day of rest he sort of craved
the blandness of Malted Oneirine.
    How about some wall? he thought.
He finished the last of the liquid
and put the empty container back into
the microwave. A few short steps
later, he was enwombed in his beloved
recliner. From his sitting position
he pushed a big red button on the
wall and the clock and date display
changed to a wall-sized screen. In
the middle it read, "Cableville M-
2683".
    A sultry, muted sax melody filled
the room as the screen changed into
the billowing curves of a soft,
rippling velveteen cloth, in moving
shades of ochres, browns and deep
violets. Rick was entranced. The
music and the sensuous ripples of the
cloth combined to move him into
another place and time. Late 1940s
Los Angeles, it turned out. He sat
back in the recliner and didn't move
a muscle as the story streamed past,
with its socio-political undertones,
its cynical hero, its labyrinthine
plot.
    When it was over he exhaled
heavily and shook his head in
amazement. What a great movie! he
thought, as he reached into his
reward box and brought out a hemp
burner and ball of compressed hemp.
It had all of the classic elements of
a mystery and completely believable
characters... he rambled on in his
mind as he put the ball in the burner
where it immediately began emanating
a thin white, wispy smoke. He placed
the burner on the top of the reward
box and turned back to the screen.
The film was starting again.
    By eleven that night he had seen
the story three more times. He had
spent the day just as he wanted,
taking it easy and indulging himself.
Hey, he deserved a day off, he
thought. Running a nightclub was no
picnic, and if you think you can find
a lost love, stay out of the clutches
of some sadistic Nazis, then give
away the woman you love -- all for a
higher principle! -- and not need a
day off, then hey, you're a better
man than I am. Rick Blaine was ready
to pack it in after a perfect day.
    He went into the kitchen and saw
that the microwave had a fresh packet
of food in it. He pressed the button
and took out the packet, opened it up
and drank. Good stuff, that Malted
Sonomine. He really wasn't up for any
kind of fancy food. After all, he was
getting ready for bed.
    He went into the bathroom and did
his usual nighttime ablutions,
brushing his teeth briskly with some
Calhoon's toothpaste, then dropped
down on the bed and within minutes
was sound asleep.

      Chapter Two: Jacob Gittes

    Jake Gittes woke with a start,
and was relieved to see that he was
in his apartment. Through the door
into the living room he saw that it
was almost 10 on Monday, July 6,
2047. He must have gotten some much-
needed sleep -- he felt pretty good.
As his memories of the preceding days
rooted in his mind he sat up on the
edge of the bed. He remained there
with elbows on knees, his hands over
his eyes propping his head up for a
minute, then three steps later was in
his bathroom. As he brushed his teeth
with Calhoon's toothpaste his mind
overflowed with warm, yet sharply
detailed memories and thoughts.
    Evelyn Mulray was what he thought
about. He didn't care about the
valley's water problems or Noah Cross
or Hollis Mulray. His nose didn't
even bother him anymore, except a
little at night. But why did Evelyn
have to die? The memory of last
night's shooting in Chinatown was
delicately clear in his mind, along
with the pain, but surprisingly he
felt as if the worst had passed, and
that all he needed was a quiet day at
home. Sooner or later he'd have to
settle up with Noah Cross, but for
today he deserved some peace and
quiet -- maybe a little wall -- here
in his apartment, far, far from
Chinatown.
    Jake, who always slept in the
nude, emerged from the bathroom
wearing nothing and decided there was
no reason to put anything on. He fell
onto the bed on his back and
stretched his full, 5' 6" frame over
its edges. His eyes closed, he felt a
wave of supreme lassitude sweep over
his body. His nose, which had been
slit the week before by a weaselly
gangster who looked like Roman
Polanski, no longer hurt at all.
There was only the pain of Evelyn's
death, which somehow now, almost
seemed for the best.
    In his mind he went over the
events of the past weeks, remembering
how that redheaded actress had posed
as Evelyn Mulray, suckering him into
a scandal with him as the stooge.
That sure wasn't a happy time, but in
hindsight, it made for a damn good
story, Jake thought with a chuckle.
    But that was how he met Evelyn
Mulray. It didn't take long for her
to get her hooks into him and by the
time he had slapped her secret out of
her, he was in deep, too deep. He had
to dodge the cops as well as Noah
Cross and when he heard she was
headed to Chinatown, he knew it was
going to end bad. The pain of last
night in Chinatown, with the blare of
her car horn as accompaniment, played
through his head, rebounding from
pillowlike receptors, never catching
root...appreciated, but never felt.
    Around 2 pm he pulled himself out
of his reverie and headed into the
kitchen. In the microwave, as always,
was a packet of Malted Oneirine.
"Good!" he grunted to himself. After
all of the spicy foods he'd been
eating in the greasy spoons of LA,
some sensible Malted Oneirine sounded
perfect. He pressed the red button
and two seconds later he opened the
oven and took out the packet. He tore
off the tab and swigged it down in
one gulp. He put the wrapper back in
the microwave and went into the
living room and his recliner.
    "You know," he thought to
himself. "I think I'll just stay home
all day and watch some wall."
Smiling, he pressed the big red
button on the wall by his reward
box.
    The time:date display stayed on
the wall in front of him.
    This had never happened before.
Jake tried it again, pressing with
more pressure this time. Nothing.
    "What's going on here?" he spoke
out loud. In his experience, when you
pressed the button, you got a movie.
Nothing complicated, no switches or
dials, just one button to watch a
movie. He was confused, and that put
quite an edge on his good mood. He
had reconciled the events of the past
week in LA, and he had blended the
memories with the thousands of other
memories that lived in the back of
his brain. His feeling that
everything is fine and that he
deserved a day of rest was being
undermined by this non-functioning
button.
    Jake Gittes, scandal detective,
reached back his small fist and hit
the button with all his might.
"Owwwww!" he howled, but only because
he expected it was going to hurt. The
pain never came and in his relief
Jake heard a small ping behind the
button, as if something mechanical
had shifted. The screen suddenly came
to life with a centered message, "PBS
City D-1463", which soon changed into
the face of a wild-looking man, bald
on top with a cowlick on each side of
his forehead swept up into horns. He
was wearing sunglasses and sported a
trim, brown beard.
    Jake felt better immediately,
although the "PBS City" message was
mystifying. He had a vague memory of
the phrase, but nothing he could
easily grasp. Cableville was where he
lived and he hadn't really considered
there might be places other than
that. He leaned back in the recliner
and devoted his full attention to the
man on the screen.
    "--anyway, that's my theory. You
can take it or leave it. I really
don't give a --"
    The wild man's face was replaced
by that of a female commentator.
"That was in 2013 when Knees Calhoon
first proposed his radical new social
welfare policy. It's hard to see now
why it wasn't embraced whole-
heartedly, but we must remember that
it was a much more superstitious
time."
    Jake had never seen such a film.
He had memories of hundreds of
adventurous romps throughout the
world, dramatic family episodes, even
hilarious mistaken-identity capers,
all of which he had lived, but
nothing like this. It was just the
dry life history of some guy named
Knees Calhoon who had started a new
welfare policy back in 2023.
    According to the "documentary",
as the movie was called in the film,
welfare in the U.S. consisted of
giving a minimum of food, clothing
and shelter to those who, for
whatever reason, couldn't pay their
way. In addition to the minimum
services, there was a general air of
severe disapproval attached to
receiving welfare. The old Protestant
work ethic was still in effect.
    Calhoon changed all that. His
reasoning was that what made
traditional welfare fail was that the
recipients were unhappy. How could
they not be? They lived on the very
edge of survival and on top of that,
everybody else looked down on them.
The secret to welfare success is to
come up with a way to continue to
give each recipient minimal support -
- hence, minimal outlay to the
taxpayer -- but at the same time keep
them happy as larks.
    To Calhoon, the answer was as
plain as the smoke in his face.
Drugs. And not just any drugs,
especially not the ones approved by
the FDA to keep everybody feeling
just as bad as they would if they
didn't take anything at all. No, what
was needed was a drug that would make
a person feel absolutely great about
living in a minimal space, using
minimal resources and producing
minimal garbage.
    Jake was astounded. There was
something eerily different about this
movie, or documentary. He had the
feeling that this was something that
really happened. That's not what
movies are for, he protested to
himself. Movies are fantasies to take
you away from your lives for a day.
They're a reward for all the hard
work you had done that previous day,
or week, or month. But this... This
is something he wasn't sure he
liked.
    He continued to watch, never
taking his eyes off the screen, even
when he took out a hemp ball and
burner and lit it up.
    Calhoon worked it all out. Every
man, woman and child on earth was
guaranteed a small apartment with
minimal daily food, a movie (of
course), and an article of clothing,
if asked for. This was basically what
welfare was offering them at the
time. But in addition, Calhoon
provided a drug that would insure
that the apartment dweller was happy
about his daily routine.
    There were a few failed trials,
but soon it was found that a sequence
of oneirine and sonomine, taken at
regular intervals in a 24-hour
period, would cause the following
behavioral pattern:

 (1) 8 - 10 hours sleep
 (2) 4 - 6 hours of meditation about
     life
 (3) 8 - 12 hours of a desire to
     watch wall

    But what really made the whole
thing work was a special drug called
fenderine, which is the main
ingredient in Calhoon's toothpaste.
Its effect is to make the person
believe that the memories that are
foremost in his mind are his real
memories. He becomes whatever persona
is most vivid and immediate in his
memory, at least for the rest of that
day.
    People who opted for welfare were
housed in huge buildings called
Cableville, while those who elected
to work lived outside, in what was
called PBS City. Cableville residents
were shown only escapist adventure
films on a single channel; everyone
else in PBS City had 10,000 channels
to choose from.
    Upon hearing this, Jake Gittes
sat up in his recliner. This was
extremely disturbing, but at the same
time, fascinating. Connections were
crackling in his brain, ones that
didn't get made often. He felt a
little disassociated, as if he were
two people for a second. He stared at
the screen.
    There were scenes of people lying
on beds in apartments just like
Jake's, all of them smiling. Knees
Calhoon was seen with important heads
of state: the president, the anti-
pope, the King of Hollywood. His
policies in place, his fame secured,
he spent the rest of his life
collecting the works of Harry Stephen
Keeler and writing the definitive
history of the Trim-Trio, published
posthumously by J & F Publishing,
Inc.
    The documentary ended with
Calhoon's death of pan-sexual
asphyxiation at the age of 97 in the
year 2044. On his bearded face was a
smile very similar to those of his
Cableville apartment dwellers.
    Jake lit up another hemp ball
from the reward box, which always had
a fresh supply every morning, and
watched the movie about Knees Calhoon
five more times. During the third
time he got up from his recliner and
put his hand on the doorknob of the
front door. Even with the screen
distracting him with grey and brown
images of the horned Calhoon, he
could feel that the door was fake. It
was all just a wall, with a door
painted on and a plastic doorknob
attached. He sat back in the chair
and continued to watch.
    Around 11 pm he felt hungry and
walked into the kitchen. The screen
went out as soon as he left the room,
replaced by the time:date display. He
pressed the red button and took the
Malted Sonomine packet out of the
microwave. He really felt like having
a tasteless, malty drink before bed
after all that greasy LA food. After
chugging the drink, he put the empty
packet back in the oven out of habit
and went into the bathroom.
    He brushed his teeth with
Calhoon's toothpaste, took a quick
shower, and spilled into his bed.
Jake Gittes, jaded detective and
former LA cop, fell asleep long
before midnight.

  Chapter Three: Kneesius Calhoon

    Knees Calhoon woke up in a bad
mood, even though he felt great. He
looked all around at the tiny
apartment and thought, this does look
about as minimal as you can get. No
clothes, nothing but a bed, a chair,
a bathroom and a microwave. Oh yeah,
and a reward box. And the wall. All
in all, not such a bad deal, his mind
insisted on saying. But then the
memory of what he had done came back
to him in full force and he was felt
like he should be mad.
    Here he goes and solves one of
his society's biggest problems and he
gets put in one of his own Cableville
apartments. And to dig the knife in a
little deeper, they make a
documentary about him and tack on
some fakealoo about his retirement
and death. Well, he was going to see
about this. He'd investigate this
from A to Izzard! But not today. He
deserved a quiet day at the
apartment, to rest up from all of the
world travelling and hobnobbing he
had been doing lately, promoting his
new social policies. Maybe some wall
would be nice.
    He sat up on the bed and out of
20 years' habit, strode into the
bathroom. He brushed his teeth with
Calhoon's toothpaste and plopped down
on the bed. His memories of life as a
social engineer were so crystal
clear, he began reliving them, one
after another as the morning drew
long.
    He knew what had happened.
Something had gone wrong with his
wall and he had tapped into a PBS
City show, instead of his usual
Cableville adventure. His memories
told him that he had spent the last
decades creating and refining the
Cableville welfare system, but the
show implied that it might be just an
artifact of a drug called fenderine.
    It was all so confusing, even
though his mind was hyper-alert. But
one thing was clear: he deserved a
day of rest. And maybe some wall.
    Around 2 in the afternoon he got
up from the bed, had some Malted
Oneirine and sat down to watch some
wall. After he'd relaxed for a while
he'd look into the disturbing news
about the welfare state and his
contributions to it. He'd also see if
there was another way out of the
apartment other than the fake door.
    He pressed the red button on the
wall and the time:date changed to
"PBS City D-1464". Below it a message
read: "Beginning a 5000-part series
on Mass Murderers, Serial Killers and
other Unfortunates of the Twentieth
Century."
    After watching a fascinating
documentary about a mid-20th Century
tyrant six times, Knees Calhoon, hero
of the welfare state, performed his
usual nighttime rituals and went to
bed.

 Chapter Four: Adolph Schickelgruber

    The Chancellor of Germany awoke
around 10 am, feeling damn good
considering all that he had been
through in the past twenty years...

              The End