Mad World Band

by Danielle L. Parker

Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
appear in this issue.

Chapter 4

The temperature never got exactly comfortable in the underground realm that Dolph Rinchus had lived in these last ten years. In the large natural cavern that he now called home, it was always cool and damp, for underground rivers added constant moisture to the air at the edge of the little shanty he had ironically dubbed Styxville.

The population of Styxville was now fifty-two adults and a motley collection of children, some of who had never seen the surface or the sun. In better times, those children would have been sunburned and sun-bleached, for above them was what had once been sunny California. The unofficial leader of this small community was reminded of that irony every time he saw a child’s pale face.

These were thoughts that greatly disturbed Dolph Rinchus, but there was little he could do about it at the moment. Their underground existence, although he was not sure he would call it a life, was the only option they had at the moment, unless they wished to cross another river Styx. And that was an option that, in spite of their difficult existence, he knew that few in his little group would chose without a fight. One characteristic that all of them seemed to share was a great deal of stubbornness. Dolph himself was missing half of his left arm and an eye, but what remained of him clung obstinately to life.

He was reminded of a reason for that necessary struggle as he looked at one of the two persons in the small stone lean-to he and his daughter called home. Tessa was eighteen now, and fortunately, she looked more like her late mother than the bulky, bearded, unhandsome man Dolph wryly reckoned himself to be. She had her mother’s beautiful dark eyes, thickly lashed, and the same lovely brow line, and if her skin was a pallid white and her curly dark hair cut raggedly short, well, that could not be helped. She had grown up into a rangy, long-limbed young woman, with her mother’s intensity and occasional long silences, and Dolph was very proud of her.

He was less at ease as he looked at the other person in their small hut, not least because that particular being could with a lift of that arm destroy himself and his village in a few minutes of mayhem. With an AWOL, one could never be entirely sure that such a fit would not come upon it, even if this one sounded unusually reasonable and sane. But at least their visitor had stuck to one theme with remarkable obstinacy.

“Friends,” it said again. “I want to be your friend, Dolph Rinchus.” There was no expression in the face that had once been a young man’s, but even his host could detect a certain desperation in that repetition. It almost sounded plaintive.

“Alright,” he said, more kindly than he felt was wise. But on the other hand, they really couldn’t force it to leave, either. “We won’t turn you away, but you’ll have to leave your control in my daughter’s hands. We have to get to know you first.”

There was certainly more reason than that; Dolph was all too well aware that most AWOLs degraded swiftly. However well intentioned this particular visitor might be at the moment, there was no guarantee that its neurological and genetic re-programming would not break down and cause it to slip into insanity. The sensible thing would be to use that control right now and terminate it, but somehow, he couldn’t.

And in any event, it might stop him: it could react much faster than he. He sighed. Still, someone was going to have to watch it closely for signs of further breakdown.

He studied his guest with a slightly harder gaze. By the designation, this was one of the rarely seen Officer models, meant to direct troops and evaluate and respond to battle situations fluidly. It could, given that degree of intelligence and military savvy, not to mention firepower, actually prove very useful, although of course it also increased the risk that the Army would value it enough to mount a retrieval operation. Still, the Army knew all about the problem of AWOLs, and they would likely assume OFF-091 was just an especially early victim to the syndrome. Dolph leaned back and looked thoughtfully into those disturbing eyes.

“Why don’t we get to know you, David,” he said agreeably. “I’d like to know who you are, or I should say were, and how you got here, and how,” this was, indeed, a point he planned to pay particularly close attention to, “you knew of us.” With the dwindling of usable supplies from the abandoned city above, they had been forced to raid an Army cache last week, and as Dolph had feared at the time, it was a risk that might have borne fruit too close to home.

“I do not remember who I was before,” his visitor said. There was another long, disturbing, AWOL-like pause. “Beekeeping,” it said at last. “I remember I looked after bees. I did not want to become a soldier, but they came for me. My name, and the bees, and,” a long pause again, “Honey. I remember honey.”

“You are fortunate to remember anything at all,” Dolph said kindly. It really wasn’t this poor young man’s fault. The army had begun converting unwilling draftees now that the rumors of the breakdowns were spreading uncontrollably. David the former beekeeper, whether that had been his hobby or, less likely, his profession, was obviously one of those victims. “Do you remember your last name?”

“No.” Usually there was no real emotion left to a bio-construct, but unmistakably, David, for so Dolph had begun to think of it or him, was disturbed. “I woke in the conversion room. I knew I did not want to be a soldier. That much...that much I remembered. When I was issued my orders, I looked for a means of escape. Information about your group was in the data-link. I saw you were underground, which would block my locator tag and hinder pursuit.”

It paused before repeating its mantra. “I need friends, Dolph Rinchus.”

Tessa spoke quietly for the first time. “I think I can dig out that locator tag. I should do it as soon as possible. We are underground, but that doesn’t mean they can’t send snoopers after you. We do get them now and then.”

“David,” Dolph said politely, “do you object to Tessa working on you while we talk?”

“The tag is in my chest,” said their visitor, unbuttoning its shirt obediently. “I will guide you, Tessa Rinchus.”

“Just Tessa,” the girl said quietly, getting up to get her tools. “It sounds like your tag is in the standard place. I know how to get it out.”

Dolph smiled fondly. They had few books and fewer computers in their renegade existence, but his girl was smart. He turned his thoughts back to business.

“What were your orders, David?” he queried. He was more interested in the question of what was in the Army database about his small group, but he was a little curious about what they had intended OFF-091 for.

“Report for duties in command of Seventh Battalion,” their visitor said promptly. There was that tang of the inhuman in its voice again.

Dolph’s interest was piqued. If OFF-091 was slated to be a battalion commander, it was the most high-ranking bio-construct Dolph had ever encountered. That argued a degree of autonomy and intelligence that was unusual in such neurologically re-programmed tools. Whatever David had been before his unwilling conversion, Dolph suspected more and more that it was not only a simple beekeeper. The medics would have chosen someone of considerable natural ability before beginning their re-programming.

He pulled his beard thoughtfully. He was also beginning to suspect that although OFF-091 was obviously an AWOL, it was not for the usual reason of insanity. Something had been missed, or gone wrong, in that original conversion, and there was clearly just a little too much left of the young man they had meant to erase. Perhaps, given the increasing problem of the AWOLs, they were trying new techniques that left more of the original human persona behind.

He watched his raggedly dressed daughter, her thin face intent on her task. Slowly, the decision he had been turning around in his thoughts the last few weeks hardened. He frowned. Dolph Rinchus had never been handsome, and his late wife had fondly referred to the expression now on his blunt features as the “battleaxe.” The patch over his eye he had acquired since that time had only strengthened the toughness of that look.

“David,” he said slowly, “I think we can be your friends, if you will be ours.” He got to his feet; the silvery eyes turned upwards to follow his movement. “I think we can help each other.”

He held out his hand. “You’ve escaped, and maybe we can all escape. I’ve been thinking we need to move our base. I’m going to get everyone together and we’re going to discuss the why, and then the how and where, with your help.” He smiled. “Some of these kids need a little sunshine.”

Tessa had the little chip in her fine tweezers now, and she closed the cover on the small cavity. OFF-091, or David, as Dolph was now determined to think of him, slowly held out his own hand. That shimmering appendage had reformed itself into an almost perfect semblance of a human arm and hand now, and although the sensation as Dolph took it in his own was strange, raising the hairs on his neck, still, it was a handclasp of sorts.

“Friends,” said the newest member of Styxville, “I understand very well.”

To be continued...