Chapter 25. Weatherman
07/06/07 • -1 min
The hottest part of the day was past, but the evening breeze that alternately lifted the plain white curtains and pressed them flat against the screens in Linda’s cabin was still too warm to be of any comfort.
Listen to the Chapter 25 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
Max sat on the edge of the small bed, stripped to his underwear and t-shirt, sweating and waiting for the dinner bell. After dinner, he imagined, he would lie here and wait for breakfast. Then lunch, and then dinner again. Eventually he would become nothing more than a great, fat, sweating lump, venturing out only to eat.
Joel was right – if you’re going to drop out you have to commit to it. This was about as out as he could get.
Although Linda had promised to explain everything to him, the information she’d offered was vague and minimal. She and her compatriots at the Freedom Club, she said, had been keeping an eye on Herman Grunding, as well as Perske and a think tank that Linda called the Jasons. How a bunch of granola munching Luddites in the Pennsylvania Mountains managed that was not something she was willing to go into, just yet anyway.
Max had only come to their attention when he’d logged in as Herman and started raising red flags by lumbering around and asking lots of questions that Herman would surely have known the answers to.
The door opened and the curtains snapped tight against the screens. Linda stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Here you are,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure. Just doing my part. Staying low, dropping out.”
“Had enough of hornworms?”
“Yep,” said Max. “It’s not much of a hobby. The tomatoes are as good as dead anyway. I figure Joel can collect them himself, if he’s hungry.”
Linda shrugged and stood quietly for a while, apparently in search of a reply. When she didn’t find one, she made her way to the bathroom. The water ran briefly in the sink, then she stepped out as she dried her hands on the rough hand towel from the hook next to the bathroom mirror.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s not as exciting being on the lam as I might have imagined.”
“It never is.” She tossed the towel into the bathroom where it landed soundlessly on the tile. “There are,” she said as she crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, “ways to pass the time.”
“Checkers?”
She placed her hand lightly on his thigh.
“Not board games.”
Max blinked. “It’s very hot, you know.”
Linda plucked at the leg of his boxers.
“It would be cooler without these.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“It’s not that. I have,” he said slowly, “a problem. It’s the drugs, mostly.”
She slid closer to him, pressing her leg against his.
“Are you sure? Have you tried?”
“Of course,” said Max. He stood and stepped away from the bed.
“Would you like to just lie down for a while? Until dinner.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down to the floor, then stretched out naked on the bed.
“Please?”
Max climbed onto the bed and she snuggled against his side.
“I’m sorry – about your problem,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
He stared at the ceiling as sweat trickled off his brow to the pillow behind his head. When the bell finally rang in the distance he took a shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and overalls, and walked with Linda down to the tent to eat.
***
{{Pause=0.5}}
“Attention, brothers and sisters,” called a man standing by the fire pit where the Freedom Club members gathered after dinner. He was dressed in robes similar to Joel’s but much cleaner. Even from a distance of twenty feet or more under the dim light of the crackling fire, Max could see that the man had wispy white hair and skin that was dry and loose.
Despite his announcement, the chattering of the crowd subsided only slightly. “Your attention please,” he said more forcefully. “I have a few announcements to make before this evening’s workshop.”
Linda patted Max’s knee and leaned back to rest her elbows on the blanket she had spread across the grass for the two of them. But for the most part, no one else appeared to pay any mind to the host.
“Holy robots,” the man shouted. “People shut up.” The crowd fell silent with the exception of what sounded like a woman softly whimpering.
“Thank you friends. The quicker we get started, the quicke...
Listen to the Chapter 25 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
Max sat on the edge of the small bed, stripped to his underwear and t-shirt, sweating and waiting for the dinner bell. After dinner, he imagined, he would lie here and wait for breakfast. Then lunch, and then dinner again. Eventually he would become nothing more than a great, fat, sweating lump, venturing out only to eat.
Joel was right – if you’re going to drop out you have to commit to it. This was about as out as he could get.
Although Linda had promised to explain everything to him, the information she’d offered was vague and minimal. She and her compatriots at the Freedom Club, she said, had been keeping an eye on Herman Grunding, as well as Perske and a think tank that Linda called the Jasons. How a bunch of granola munching Luddites in the Pennsylvania Mountains managed that was not something she was willing to go into, just yet anyway.
Max had only come to their attention when he’d logged in as Herman and started raising red flags by lumbering around and asking lots of questions that Herman would surely have known the answers to.
The door opened and the curtains snapped tight against the screens. Linda stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Here you are,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure. Just doing my part. Staying low, dropping out.”
“Had enough of hornworms?”
“Yep,” said Max. “It’s not much of a hobby. The tomatoes are as good as dead anyway. I figure Joel can collect them himself, if he’s hungry.”
Linda shrugged and stood quietly for a while, apparently in search of a reply. When she didn’t find one, she made her way to the bathroom. The water ran briefly in the sink, then she stepped out as she dried her hands on the rough hand towel from the hook next to the bathroom mirror.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s not as exciting being on the lam as I might have imagined.”
“It never is.” She tossed the towel into the bathroom where it landed soundlessly on the tile. “There are,” she said as she crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, “ways to pass the time.”
“Checkers?”
She placed her hand lightly on his thigh.
“Not board games.”
Max blinked. “It’s very hot, you know.”
Linda plucked at the leg of his boxers.
“It would be cooler without these.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“It’s not that. I have,” he said slowly, “a problem. It’s the drugs, mostly.”
She slid closer to him, pressing her leg against his.
“Are you sure? Have you tried?”
“Of course,” said Max. He stood and stepped away from the bed.
“Would you like to just lie down for a while? Until dinner.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down to the floor, then stretched out naked on the bed.
“Please?”
Max climbed onto the bed and she snuggled against his side.
“I’m sorry – about your problem,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
He stared at the ceiling as sweat trickled off his brow to the pillow behind his head. When the bell finally rang in the distance he took a shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and overalls, and walked with Linda down to the tent to eat.
***
{{Pause=0.5}}
“Attention, brothers and sisters,” called a man standing by the fire pit where the Freedom Club members gathered after dinner. He was dressed in robes similar to Joel’s but much cleaner. Even from a distance of twenty feet or more under the dim light of the crackling fire, Max could see that the man had wispy white hair and skin that was dry and loose.
Despite his announcement, the chattering of the crowd subsided only slightly. “Your attention please,” he said more forcefully. “I have a few announcements to make before this evening’s workshop.”
Linda patted Max’s knee and leaned back to rest her elbows on the blanket she had spread across the grass for the two of them. But for the most part, no one else appeared to pay any mind to the host.
“Holy robots,” the man shouted. “People shut up.” The crowd fell silent with the exception of what sounded like a woman softly whimpering.
“Thank you friends. The quicker we get started, the quicke...
The hottest part of the day was past, but the evening breeze that alternately lifted the plain white curtains and pressed them flat against the screens in Linda’s cabin was still too warm to be of any comfort.
Listen to the Chapter 25 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
Max sat on the edge of the small bed, stripped to his underwear and t-shirt, sweating and waiting for the dinner bell. After dinner, he imagined, he would lie here and wait for breakfast. Then lunch, and then dinner again. Eventually he would become nothing more than a great, fat, sweating lump, venturing out only to eat.
Joel was right – if you’re going to drop out you have to commit to it. This was about as out as he could get.
Although Linda had promised to explain everything to him, the information she’d offered was vague and minimal. She and her compatriots at the Freedom Club, she said, had been keeping an eye on Herman Grunding, as well as Perske and a think tank that Linda called the Jasons. How a bunch of granola munching Luddites in the Pennsylvania Mountains managed that was not something she was willing to go into, just yet anyway.
Max had only come to their attention when he’d logged in as Herman and started raising red flags by lumbering around and asking lots of questions that Herman would surely have known the answers to.
The door opened and the curtains snapped tight against the screens. Linda stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Here you are,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure. Just doing my part. Staying low, dropping out.”
“Had enough of hornworms?”
“Yep,” said Max. “It’s not much of a hobby. The tomatoes are as good as dead anyway. I figure Joel can collect them himself, if he’s hungry.”
Linda shrugged and stood quietly for a while, apparently in search of a reply. When she didn’t find one, she made her way to the bathroom. The water ran briefly in the sink, then she stepped out as she dried her hands on the rough hand towel from the hook next to the bathroom mirror.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s not as exciting being on the lam as I might have imagined.”
“It never is.” She tossed the towel into the bathroom where it landed soundlessly on the tile. “There are,” she said as she crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, “ways to pass the time.”
“Checkers?”
She placed her hand lightly on his thigh.
“Not board games.”
Max blinked. “It’s very hot, you know.”
Linda plucked at the leg of his boxers.
“It would be cooler without these.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“It’s not that. I have,” he said slowly, “a problem. It’s the drugs, mostly.”
She slid closer to him, pressing her leg against his.
“Are you sure? Have you tried?”
“Of course,” said Max. He stood and stepped away from the bed.
“Would you like to just lie down for a while? Until dinner.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down to the floor, then stretched out naked on the bed.
“Please?”
Max climbed onto the bed and she snuggled against his side.
“I’m sorry – about your problem,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
He stared at the ceiling as sweat trickled off his brow to the pillow behind his head. When the bell finally rang in the distance he took a shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and overalls, and walked with Linda down to the tent to eat.
***
{{Pause=0.5}}
“Attention, brothers and sisters,” called a man standing by the fire pit where the Freedom Club members gathered after dinner. He was dressed in robes similar to Joel’s but much cleaner. Even from a distance of twenty feet or more under the dim light of the crackling fire, Max could see that the man had wispy white hair and skin that was dry and loose.
Despite his announcement, the chattering of the crowd subsided only slightly. “Your attention please,” he said more forcefully. “I have a few announcements to make before this evening’s workshop.”
Linda patted Max’s knee and leaned back to rest her elbows on the blanket she had spread across the grass for the two of them. But for the most part, no one else appeared to pay any mind to the host.
“Holy robots,” the man shouted. “People shut up.” The crowd fell silent with the exception of what sounded like a woman softly whimpering.
“Thank you friends. The quicker we get started, the quicke...
Listen to the Chapter 25 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
Max sat on the edge of the small bed, stripped to his underwear and t-shirt, sweating and waiting for the dinner bell. After dinner, he imagined, he would lie here and wait for breakfast. Then lunch, and then dinner again. Eventually he would become nothing more than a great, fat, sweating lump, venturing out only to eat.
Joel was right – if you’re going to drop out you have to commit to it. This was about as out as he could get.
Although Linda had promised to explain everything to him, the information she’d offered was vague and minimal. She and her compatriots at the Freedom Club, she said, had been keeping an eye on Herman Grunding, as well as Perske and a think tank that Linda called the Jasons. How a bunch of granola munching Luddites in the Pennsylvania Mountains managed that was not something she was willing to go into, just yet anyway.
Max had only come to their attention when he’d logged in as Herman and started raising red flags by lumbering around and asking lots of questions that Herman would surely have known the answers to.
The door opened and the curtains snapped tight against the screens. Linda stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.
“Here you are,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure. Just doing my part. Staying low, dropping out.”
“Had enough of hornworms?”
“Yep,” said Max. “It’s not much of a hobby. The tomatoes are as good as dead anyway. I figure Joel can collect them himself, if he’s hungry.”
Linda shrugged and stood quietly for a while, apparently in search of a reply. When she didn’t find one, she made her way to the bathroom. The water ran briefly in the sink, then she stepped out as she dried her hands on the rough hand towel from the hook next to the bathroom mirror.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s not as exciting being on the lam as I might have imagined.”
“It never is.” She tossed the towel into the bathroom where it landed soundlessly on the tile. “There are,” she said as she crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, “ways to pass the time.”
“Checkers?”
She placed her hand lightly on his thigh.
“Not board games.”
Max blinked. “It’s very hot, you know.”
Linda plucked at the leg of his boxers.
“It would be cooler without these.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“It’s not that. I have,” he said slowly, “a problem. It’s the drugs, mostly.”
She slid closer to him, pressing her leg against his.
“Are you sure? Have you tried?”
“Of course,” said Max. He stood and stepped away from the bed.
“Would you like to just lie down for a while? Until dinner.”
She pulled her shirt over her head, unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down to the floor, then stretched out naked on the bed.
“Please?”
Max climbed onto the bed and she snuggled against his side.
“I’m sorry – about your problem,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
He stared at the ceiling as sweat trickled off his brow to the pillow behind his head. When the bell finally rang in the distance he took a shower, dressed in a fresh shirt and overalls, and walked with Linda down to the tent to eat.
***
{{Pause=0.5}}
“Attention, brothers and sisters,” called a man standing by the fire pit where the Freedom Club members gathered after dinner. He was dressed in robes similar to Joel’s but much cleaner. Even from a distance of twenty feet or more under the dim light of the crackling fire, Max could see that the man had wispy white hair and skin that was dry and loose.
Despite his announcement, the chattering of the crowd subsided only slightly. “Your attention please,” he said more forcefully. “I have a few announcements to make before this evening’s workshop.”
Linda patted Max’s knee and leaned back to rest her elbows on the blanket she had spread across the grass for the two of them. But for the most part, no one else appeared to pay any mind to the host.
“Holy robots,” the man shouted. “People shut up.” The crowd fell silent with the exception of what sounded like a woman softly whimpering.
“Thank you friends. The quicker we get started, the quicke...
Previous Episode
Chapter 24. In the Garden
Max squatted among the rows of tomato plants, turning over leaves one by one in search of hornworms. When he plucked them off the plants, they would squirm and twist in a sort of slow motion panic, as peristaltic ripples flowed from one end of their bodies to the other. The largest of the hornworms were about the length and thickness of his pinky. There were plenty of the pests to find munching on the pesticide-free plants in the Freedom Club gardens. After only an hour of searching, he had already collected enough to cover the bottom of the rusty coffee canister resting on the dirt by his knee. They weren’t really worms at all, but a fleshy type of caterpillar with rich, emerald green skin and a menacing though apparently harmless horn at the tail.
Listen to the Chapter 24 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
As a rule, Linda had told him, everyone staying at the Freedom Club compound was assigned chores. Although in Max’s case it wasn’t required, considering the circumstances of his arrival. He did essentially nothing for his first three days in the compound except breathe deeply of the manure scented air, eat mounds of organic food, and wander about observing the rest of the residents hard at work planting, harvesting, and tending to animals.
It wasn’t long before boredom and a twinge of guilt at his privileged leisure inspired him to volunteer for work. Lacking any other identifiable skills, he’d been assigned to the vegetable gardens. He’d never had much luck at gardening in the past, but given the choice between working with plants or the commune’s collection of pigs, sheep, and goats, picking vegetables and clearing hornworms off of tomato vines seemed the best option for a soft, son of the suburbs.
When Joel first led him out to the garden, Max cringed at the thought of picking hornworms by hand, and gagged when Joel picked a juicy one from a leaf, pinched off its head and tossed the squirming remains into his mouth.
“Best way to make sure they won’t be comin’ back,” Joel said. He grinned to reveal bits of emerald hornworm skin on his yellowing teeth. “Or you can do it the sissy way and put ‘em in a bucket.”
Max had opted for the bucket.
When he reached the end of the row of tomato plants, Max tucked the captive hornworms into the shade under the vines and stood, pressing one hand against his lower back to ease the crick that had resulted from squatting in the garden. He was, at best, a quarter of the way through. Considering the density of hornworms and lack of viable tomatoes, there seemed little chance that the plot would ever be very productive, unless the goal was to harvest the hornworms rather than the fruit.
He arched his lower back until the muscles spasmed in protest, and listened for the telltale clatter of cooking pots and utensils that would have indicated that the communal lunch was near. For the moment, he could make out only an occasional hammer blow, along with the mews and brays of farm animals and the syncopated cough of the archaic engine that ran the camp’s generator. Although there was a promising sign in the wisp of gray smoke that snaked from the stovepipe poking out of the long, low tent that served as a dining hall.
The Freedom Club compound was tucked in the Amish hills of Pennsylvania. Buggies, scythes, and horse-drawn ploughs littered the outdoor spaces. Of the several dozen people in the camp, most dressed like Max in denim overalls, t-shirts, and work boots. Every article of clothing as far as Max could tell had a ragged patch sewn in where the label had been torn out. A few residents, like Joel, preferred linen wrappings that may have been intended to evoke scholarly dignity, but achieved something closer to a frat boy toga party look. Universally, hygiene was a lower priority at the camp than Max was used to, even in comparison to the grad students back at the university. No one looked particularly dirty, other than Joel of course, but regular bathing, antiperspirants and deodorizing soaps were clearly uncommon at the Freedom Club. After a few experiences with the poorly heated shower water, Max was inclined to let himself get a bit ripe before washing up as well.
The Freedom Clubbers were about as friendly as they were fragrant. Which is to say, just a little friendlier than Max cared for; offering a hug rather than a handshake, for instance, or a pat on the back instead of simply saying goodnight after supper.
Idle conversation, however, was generally limited to speculation about the weather and observations on the size and quality of the vegetables and plants. None of them expressed much interest in revealing anything...
Next Episode
Chapter 26. Target Practice
Read about the Dark Net Target Practice game inspired by this chapter.
At first glance, the rolling green hills, brilliant blue sky and puffy clouds looked reasonably convincing. But the illusion didn’t hold up well under close scrutiny. Everything had the shoddy artificialness of a low budget virtual environment, like an old fashioned sound stage in some epic film from the glory days of Technicolor Hollywood. Max imagined if he were to climb the nearest hill, he would find that the distant horizon where the earth met the sky was nothing more than paint on a rippling canvas backdrop.
Listen to the Chapter 26 podcast with roboreader Sangeeta.
The half dozen creatures frolicking on the artificial turf a few dozen yards away weren’t rendered any better. There was a cat that was apparently made of scraps of paper swept up from the floor of an artist’s studio, a cartoonish dog walking on his hind legs and wearing a red cape, a bearded man with an Elizabethan collar that Max assumed was supposed to evoke Shakespeare, a levitating UFO about the size of a basketball, and a claymation Albert Einstein. The final creature was the most animated of the bunch – it was a twisting, cavorting, spastic paperclip with googly eyes that Max recognized as the annoying office assistant from some ancient word processor program.
“Ready for target practice?” Joel asked as he hefted a rifle to his shoulder and took a bead on the dancing paperclip flitting through a patch of yellow flowers. He squeezed the trigger and fired off a shot that froze the creature in mid frolic.
“That just hangs the process,” said Joel. He tilted the rifle and twisted a knob on the stock. “You can adjust how long you want it to halt with this. Watch him. He’ll get going again in a second.”
After a few moments, the frozen paperclip jerked back into motion just as Joel had predicted.
He flipped the rifle over and pointed to a switch just in front of the trigger guard. “This lets you set it to corrupt the bugger all together. Wanna try it?”
Max shook his head. “After you.”
Joel aimed again and shouted, “Hey dude, it looks like I’m writing an obituary.”
The paperclip bounced spastically. “Would you like help?” it screeched.
“I think I know how to compose this one.”
Joel fired a shot. The grinning paperclip melted into a blob of gray goo that seeped into the grass.
Joel thrust the weapon into Max’s hands.
“Give it a go. It’s fun.”
The faux wood stock was warm and smooth. The rifle had a comfortable heft.
Max set the switch back to the pause position and pointed the gun up to the sky at a cloud that was unconvincingly drifting by. The butt bucked lightly against his shoulder and a jagged portion of the cloud stopped in its place, while the remainder continued on its way. He lowered the rifle toward the ground and pulled the trigger again. A spot on the shimmering grass dimmed a bit.
Finally, he aimed at the claymation Einstein. The first shot went wide right, and the second was too low. The third was dead on, freezing Einstein in place.
“If we’re going in there armed with these,” he said, “I hope you’re not counting on my marksmanship.”
Max turned as he spoke, and Joel leapt back clumsily stumbling on his robes.
“Watch it,” he squeaked. “Don’t point that at me.”
Max lowered the muzzle.
“Excuse me. Is it dangerous to humans?”
“Indeedy,” said Joel. “They tried it on me once. It was only set on pause of course. Have you ever been wrapped in a wet rubber sheet?”
Max admitted that it was not a pleasure he had ever experienced.
“You can imagine what it feels like. Anyway, we’re not relying on your aim. Linda’s a crack shot. She’s the one who popped me. I can tell you, I wasn’t standing still for it. She hit me at fifty meters and a full run.”
The image brought an involuntary smile to Max’s face.
“Besides,” said Joel, “you don’t have to aim very well with these.”
He lifted a portion of his r...
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