Tag: suicide plague

Oh, God, this jackwagon. I don’t even like this guy, too much.

Nobody looked happy, and that included all the people who Norm had quietly pegged as having a bug up their ass for all this reforming crap. Which made sense, because everybody here was a F-SOB first, and what they were hearing wasn’t good news for any of them. Politics was one thing; mandatory overtime was something else.
“I’m sure you all saw the squirt this weekend,” Regional Director Becky Chin announced, the grit in her voice making it clear how well she was taking the news. “The Garner state legislature approved the amendment. So that’s three-fourths. That’s the ballgame. Hope you all enjoyed your weekend, because from this point on all unnecessary leave is canceled. Yeah, Norm?”

Norm lowered his hand. “I know what you mean by ‘unnecessary,’ but we got new people here. You should really drive it home for them.”

Becky laughed, which is what Norm wanted. She was a pretty good boss. “Sure, Norm. You can get married, people. You can have a kid, personally. You can die. Everything else, let me just tell you ‘no’ now and get it out of the way. This comes all the way down from President Granger himself. We’re on a time crunch, and I wish I had given this briefing last week.”

She tapped her smartboard, and everybody else’s chimed in response. “Forty new Senators, eighty-five new Congresscritters, and we won’t know who the Hell any of them are until November.” A slight ripple of — something — went through the room. Norm figured it was apprehension and anticipation, mixed.

This suddenly got a lot more ominous.

The strainer was alientech, and Norm hated it. It worked, and it didn’t hurt, so it was probably being used for something like its original use. That wasn’t nothing. In fact, when it came to gizmos from the dead Galactic Amalgamation, ‘did the job with no side effects’ was the germanium standard.

Wriggling through the shimmering film that somehow managed to soak through his cleanroom suit, regular clothes, and even outer epidermis, leaving behind all the muck and dirt? It was just flat out disgusting. He still did it, because he knew it was safe, but there was always that moment where you had to wonder whether the film was going to let you through, this time. The techies claimed the strainer ‘fed’ itself through regular dust and cosmic rays, somehow, but what if they had gotten it wrong? They couldn’t begin to tell you how the damned thing operated.

Just like all the other alientech out there.

None of this showed in Norm’s face as he glooped his way through the strainer. Whining or gibbering never helped. Getting on with things did.

Not what I wanted to do today, but I had to get something done. A lot of catchup to get to this point, and tomorrow is a time of errands. So it goes.

April 23, 2112

This bunch had really worked out how they were all going to kill themselves.

It wasn’t just that they had prepped the space. Norm knew that most suicide cults could be counted on doing that, putting up whatever crazy ritual crap they thought they’d need to Traverse the Great Beyond or Meet The Amalgamated Masters or whatever. These guys had also prepped themselves. The thirteen corpses were all dressed in clean and luxurious robes, with fresh haircuts and manicures. Not every cultist was wearing makeup, but the ones who did had all applied them with care and skill.

The room smelled sweet, even through the filters on his whole-face mask. That was surprising. In Norm’s experience, suicide sites started stinking right away. “Nita, whatcha got?” he asked the field tech. “It safe to take off the damn masks?”

“Absolutely not, Agent Baker.” That got him paying attention. Juanita Reyes might have been F-SOB, just like him, but the techies were looser about protocol. If she was suddenly going formal, this site wasn’t as kindergarten as it looked.

That oddly made him feel a little better.