Rising, falling, and close to crashing.
Alex let a lull fall over the room for a moment until Randal appeared to gather himself, then said, “You have any idea where the Cash Disease came from, where it originated?”
“ No, I don’t,” Randal said. His stomach growled long and he placed a hand over it.
“ Being we’re ‘baffling and mysterious strangers’ that hold you captive, do you think we concocted this disease in some secret laboratory and placed it on cash ourselves—Georgia and I— our little group of heretics in an abandoned styled hotel somewhere in the City? Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Randal said.
Alex said, “Well, we didn’t, man. Something like that would kill my Zen. Now, do you believe the Solution manufactured the disease? The type of stuff conspiracy theorists climax over?”
Randal looked at Alex with vacant eyes and said nothing, then rubbed his forehead.
“He’s not ready, Alex.” Georgia stood up and turned her back to Randal. “He’s not ready at all.”
“He has to be… Well,” Alex stepped closer to him, “Man, if you’d believe that poppycock you’d be wrong. It just wouldn’t be true.”
“He’s not getting it, Alex.”
“I think he is, and I won our last bet, Georgia. So shush it. You know what my running theory on all that is, Mr. Markins? It’s that we have no clue who or what is responsible. And who would be responsible? Who would cause such an abomination to humankind? Maybe it was Mother Nature Herself, buddy. A cleansing possibly? Natural population control. We only know that the Solution arose and quarantined. They prevented more mass death. The Cash Disease is a paradox, and the Solution rather mystifying in both presence and principle. So, sadly, the Cash Disease isn’t the biggest of our puzzles to solve, but our current state of affairs is a problem, see? The whole world has changed, in some ways better, yet in others it’s a transmogrification, man—like Frankenstein’s monster. Not good on maintaining the Zen, man.”
Georgia turned to her side, looking at Alex, and Randal took in her shadowed, thin profile.
Alex said, “ Here’s the real bummer; global savior or not, the Solution typically influences the way we experience life, making it no longer up to the way of things, right? How do they do that? Tracer chips? No, not at all. Tracer chips. A good damn idea if you ask me. So, all your information is in your chip, yeah? Bank accounts. GPS. Damn wi-fi in it. Great. Ok. Clever. I did it once.”
Alex held up his wrist, showing a scar where a tracer chip used to be implanted. “Wouldn’t you? You did. It’s convenience at its finest.”
Dys function Anger/Frustration suddenly took Randal over. “Then why the hell take it out? What the hell is this?” Randal said. “What the hell do you want from me? I didn’t have a damn thing to do with any Cash Disease.”
Georg ia spun back around to face him, checking him with an alert glance to assure there’d be no violence. She quickly realized there wouldn’t be. Randal wasn’t that type of guy. Randal remained in his chair. He could see the moisture of her eyes gleaming and the corner of her lips angling to smile. Something about her made Randal want to win her attention.
Alex nodded and shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Excellent inquiries, Mr. Markins. Pretty ultimate. Tracer chips will become obsolete soon. That’s a fact, and that’s because of the All. And the All is what permeated you and what now permeates near everyone in the City—kept you under an influential hex, so to speak.”
A huge part of Randal certainly missed that hex. There was comfort in it, like a constant way of life. No ups or downs. He wasn’t sure what was ever so bad about this alleged hex, or the Solution. “How did you find me? What happened? And what was that monster that tried to kill me?”
“For starters,” Alex said, “The thing that tried to kill you…it’s name is Tetrax. I have my
Alex let a lull fall over the room for a moment until Randal appeared to gather himself, then said, “You have any idea where the Cash Disease came from, where it originated?”
“ No, I don’t,” Randal said. His stomach growled long and he placed a hand over it.
“ Being we’re ‘baffling and mysterious strangers’ that hold you captive, do you think we concocted this disease in some secret laboratory and placed it on cash ourselves—Georgia and I— our little group of heretics in an abandoned styled hotel somewhere in the City? Do you?”
“I don’t know,” Randal said.
Alex said, “Well, we didn’t, man. Something like that would kill my Zen. Now, do you believe the Solution manufactured the disease? The type of stuff conspiracy theorists climax over?”
Randal looked at Alex with vacant eyes and said nothing, then rubbed his forehead.
“He’s not ready, Alex.” Georgia stood up and turned her back to Randal. “He’s not ready at all.”
“He has to be… Well,” Alex stepped closer to him, “Man, if you’d believe that poppycock you’d be wrong. It just wouldn’t be true.”
“He’s not getting it, Alex.”
“I think he is, and I won our last bet, Georgia. So shush it. You know what my running theory on all that is, Mr. Markins? It’s that we have no clue who or what is responsible. And who would be responsible? Who would cause such an abomination to humankind? Maybe it was Mother Nature Herself, buddy. A cleansing possibly? Natural population control. We only know that the Solution arose and quarantined. They prevented more mass death. The Cash Disease is a paradox, and the Solution rather mystifying in both presence and principle. So, sadly, the Cash Disease isn’t the biggest of our puzzles to solve, but our current state of affairs is a problem, see? The whole world has changed, in some ways better, yet in others it’s a transmogrification, man—like Frankenstein’s monster. Not good on maintaining the Zen, man.”
Georgia turned to her side, looking at Alex, and Randal took in her shadowed, thin profile.
Alex said, “ Here’s the real bummer; global savior or not, the Solution typically influences the way we experience life, making it no longer up to the way of things, right? How do they do that? Tracer chips? No, not at all. Tracer chips. A good damn idea if you ask me. So, all your information is in your chip, yeah? Bank accounts. GPS. Damn wi-fi in it. Great. Ok. Clever. I did it once.”
Alex held up his wrist, showing a scar where a tracer chip used to be implanted. “Wouldn’t you? You did. It’s convenience at its finest.”
Dys function Anger/Frustration suddenly took Randal over. “Then why the hell take it out? What the hell is this?” Randal said. “What the hell do you want from me? I didn’t have a damn thing to do with any Cash Disease.”
Georg ia spun back around to face him, checking him with an alert glance to assure there’d be no violence. She quickly realized there wouldn’t be. Randal wasn’t that type of guy. Randal remained in his chair. He could see the moisture of her eyes gleaming and the corner of her lips angling to smile. Something about her made Randal want to win her attention.
Alex nodded and shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Excellent inquiries, Mr. Markins. Pretty ultimate. Tracer chips will become obsolete soon. That’s a fact, and that’s because of the All. And the All is what permeated you and what now permeates near everyone in the City—kept you under an influential hex, so to speak.”
A huge part of Randal certainly missed that hex. There was comfort in it, like a constant way of life. No ups or downs. He wasn’t sure what was ever so bad about this alleged hex, or the Solution. “How did you find me? What happened? And what was that monster that tried to kill me?”
“For starters,” Alex said, “The thing that tried to kill you…it’s name is Tetrax. I have my
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