"Nothing... no, nothing," Steve replied, turning to Jude with a faux smile. Jude timed it just right, tapping the Happy Button as Nathan's gaze fell on her. Almost instantly, the faux smile turned genuine.
It really wasn't fair, Jude thought to herself as her hand came up out of the purse holding her cigarettes.
"No... nothing..." Nathan said, vaguely. There'd been something on his mind, he remembered, but then the sight of Jude's pretty, red lips had knocked it clean out of his head. "No. What?" he asked as Jude lit a cigarette.
"Nothing, come on," Jude turned, stepping towards the club. The tall doorman, dressed in a red silk uniform that looked to Nathan like a very expensive set of hospital scrubs, pulled open one of the solid glass doors. As the door opened, the Stem club released a thumping sonic boom out into the street.
#
The club was dark, maddeningly loud, and filled with impossibly thin, impossibly beautiful people. The deranged hospital theme hinted at by doorman's uniform continued in the interior décor. Large, illuminated x-ray plates of human body parts, painfully amalgamated with machinery, hung on the walls. A human skull with a toy truck rammed into the brain pan hung by the door. Various arms and legs held together with metal pins could be made out through the club's smoky haze.
Nathan coughed as he took his first breath of the warm, thick, choking atmosphere. The whole club was packed, and not a single person was without a cigarette, except Nathan. He choked down a retch as sweat began to bead on his brow. Out in the dark, booming, churning mass of the dance floor, each and every Stem was exhaling billowing clouds of cigarette smoke. Nathan couldn't breathe. A Puff Club, indeed. Nathan realized the significance of the term had never really dawned on him. Puff Club: puff, puff, puff. Nathan struggled for the door, stepping out and sucking in a lungful of cold, clean air.
The Stems didn't eat, they didn't drink, their only vice was their caustic cigarettes.
A hand gently touched Nathan's back. "Are you okay, Nathan?" Jude asked.
"Can't breathe," Nathan choked.
"I know. It's a bit much at first, but give it a few minutes and you'll get used to it." Nathan pulled himself vertical and turned to face Jude. She'd shed her coat and purse at the hatcheck and stood in the doorway to the club in just her light skirt and shirt. She was moving slightly to the dance floor's beat, swaying on her high heels. She held up her pack of cigarettes and offered one out to Nathan. "Here, take one yourself. It's easier to breathe when you're behind a filter."
Nathan reached up and pulled a single, white cigarette from the pack. He held it before his eyes, examining it like it was an alien artifact.
Jude's other hand came up holding a Zippo. A quick flick and the lighter spouted fire.
Nathan put the cigarette between his lips and leaned forward slightly, lighting its end. He took a long, slow drag, letting the sweet, acrid smoke fill his lungs.
"Better?" Jude asked, flipping the lighter closed.
"Yeah," Nathan said, letting out a lungful of smoke.
Jude smiled a sly, sexy smirk, and pirouetted on the toes of her high heels. She tossed back her hair and danced forward, letting the metronomic beat of the dance music move her hips.
#
Elder Tull walked north up the Ave with a foil bag of ButtyNut in each hand. He smiled a grin full of rotten teeth, muttering quietly to himself. He was pleased about his score. He was pleased about the once-forgotten feeling down in his old, dirty blue jeans. He was pleased about the prospect of the impending Potluck.
He was happy – about as happy as a Puke could get. He'd almost completely forgotten about Steve and his horrible fate at the hands of the Seattle Police. What good would it do to dwell upon it? Elder asked himself. Shit happened. Life was for the living. Steve was gone. Eydie was distraught, but that would pass. Elder had a solid meal and good news to tell her. Yes, Elder had almost completely forgotten about Steve and his fate.
Until Elder caught sight of him.
Elder stumbled and almost dropped his bags of ButtyNut on the sidewalk. A Stem walking behind Elder narrowly avoided tripping over him, doing a quick two-step to avoid any chance of physical contact.
Across the street, in front of some Stem Puff Club, was Steve. His hair had been cut and his face shaved, and he was wearing a set of newly laundered clothes, but it was Steve alright. A young, impossibly thin blonde was offering him a cigarette from a pack. Steve reached up and took one, letting the Stem light it for him. Steve let out a lungful of smoke as the tiny blonde girl started dancing up the steps of the club. Steve followed, watching the firm curves of the girl's ass.
Elder panicked, diving for the cover of a doorway. Steve was back. Steve was back! Elder screamed inside. He'd come back for Eydie. He panted in shock, holding the foil bags of ButtyNut in angry fists. He stole a glance around the corner of the doorway, up the street to where a man in red pajamas stood in front of the Puff Club's doors. Steve had gone inside – into the Stem club... and then the realization hit Elder. Yeah, Steve was back alright... the dirty, fucking Stem.
Elder sprinted across the street, through traffic and into an alleyway. He splashed through puddles to where the alley bent back behind the Puff Club. There sat a dumpster. Elder quickly hid his foil bags of ButtyNut under it, covering them with a broken section of a black, molded container lid. He did a quick scan of his surroundings for anything that might serve as a weapon. A rusty section of an old steel drainpipe came loose off the wall with a tug and a gush of brown water. He held a good three feet of it and tested the weight in his hands.
Happy with his new weapon, he retraced his steps back to the mouth of the alleyway. He rested the pipe against the brickwork and attempted to collect himself. As naturally as he could muster, he walked the few short steps up to and past the glass windows of the Puff Club. Dremel's, the sign over the door said. Elder strained against the glare of the streetlights to see through the tinted glass of the club windows. Lights flashed inside, and he could make out what looked like large, illuminated x-rays. But the club was so smoky...
Then, under what looked like a large x-ray of a gum-ball machine, Elder saw him: Steve, with the small, blonde woman and two other men. One man looked foppish, with a mop of white hair and heavy, horned-rimmed spectacles. The other had his back to the window, but the recognition was almost instantaneous. Elder would have recognized the handsome back of that head anywhere: the well dressed Stem from behind Beat's old tattoo parlor. It had to be him.
Elder stepped away from the window before the red pajama-wearing doorman grew suspicious. He turned and headed back to the alleyway, retrieving his section of metal drainpipe. He turned and leaned against the wall, making sure he had a panoramic view of the club's glass doors. Satisfied, he made himself comfortable, hiding the pipe behind his right leg.
Fucking Steve is fucking back, Elder cursed to himself. Not even stemmed for half a day and Steve was already back on the Ave, socializing in a Puff Club. There could be only one reason. They'd be in there plotting it right now. Elder could almost hear their conversation. Steve had come back for Eydie – he planned to make her like him. It was the same with all the fucking Stems. They'd never be happy until everyone was like them.
Well, Elder wasn't going to stand for it. Steve or not, no one was going to get to Eydie. Not when everything was starting to go so well for Elder. It was his job, after all, to take care of her. He was the man now, Eydie was his woman. Alright, maybe he wasn't quite ready to show her exactly how, but it didn't change the fact that Eydie belonged to Elder now. Steve could go fuck himself.
The Stems should just leave the Pukes alone. Elder would make Steve leave Eydie alone. He'd wait there until Steve came out of that club and then... well, Steve would never see it coming.
Chapter 7
Jude could dance, Nathan thought, as he followed her across the dance floor. He was still at a loss to guess her true age. She moved like a sprightly teenager, writhing her toned, young body. But Nath
an knew she was no child.
Watching her unnaturally thin figure and her high, pert breasts made Nathan feel good. The music made Nathan feel good. The taste of the cigarette made him feel good. The warm, sweat of the dancing bodies around him made him feel good. Nathan could not remember ever feeling so good – so alive. He'd been so lost for so many years. But now he was alive and he wanted to live. He took another drag off his cigarette and held in his breath. When he finally let it out, he wanted to scream. In the din of the club no one could hear him, so he did: he screamed. Like a wolf baying to the moon, he let out a loud howl. Jude took his hand and led him off the dance floor, not pausing in her rhythmic dance.
At a high table in a quieter corner of the club, before an x-ray of a human head that appeared to be full of gum balls, sat two men smoking cigars. One was odd-looking, with a Beatles mop of white hair and a pair of thick, black-framed glasses. The other was handsome and young, with wide shoulders, wearing a suit that cost at least ten thousand dollars. Jude greeted them with a warm hello, and hugged each in turn.
"Mr. Pope," the young, handsome man began, shaking Nathan's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Peters. Donald Peters. I realize it's been a difficult day, but I'm glad you were able to find the time to meet with us. This is Andrew Waverly." He gestured to the other man. "He's with the Post-Examiner." Nathan held out a hand, and the man named Waverly shook it limply.
There was a silence, like the table was expecting Nathan to speak. "I... I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here," he managed.
The table found this amusing.
While Nathan and Jude found their seats, Peters continued. "Mr. Pope. Nathan. May I call you Nathan? Your confusion is quite understandable. You might not know us, but we know you quite well. You're about to become an important man, Nathan, and we're here to help you through the... transition. Like Jude here." He pointed at Jude sitting next to Nathan, who was dancing slightly in her chair. She smiled. "Perhaps it's best that you think of us as your therapists – assistants to Jude. Though not nearly as attractive." Even in the indirect light of the glowing skull gum ball machine, Nathan could see Jude blush.
"I–" Nathan began, but Waverly interrupted, picking up on Peters' thought like a tag team.
"You see, Peters here is with the Universal Party," Waverly's voice was high and tight, like a singing bird, "and I am, as my friend already mentioned, with the Paper. Your story, Mr. Pope... you see, your story is unique. There will be a lot of interest in your story these coming days, and we feel that it is in everyone's best interest – yours and the whole nation's – to make sure your voice is heard – that the story told is your story. Do you understand, Mr. Pope?"
"No, not real–"
Peters took the hand-off. "We understand the gravity of what has happened to you, today. We understand that a great injustice has befallen you. You've had your civil rights trampled upon, Nathan, and we, at the Universal Party, acknowledge this. You must accept an apology from none other than the President of the United States of America himself for the shoddy treatment you've received at the hands of law enforcement. It was unforgivable."
"What? The stem?" Nathan asked, not quite catching the thread. He finished his cigarette and snuffed it out in the ashtray in the center of the table. Before he had a chance to wonder what to do with his idle hands, a waitress was beside him, offering him a large cigar from a silver cup. It was the sort both Peters and Waverly were smoking. Nathan accepted one and looked it over, unsure of exactly how to attack such a foreboding item.
"While we cannot– and for the Lord's sake we wish we could – roll back time and undo the damage done to you," Peters continued, ignoring Nathan, "we can assure you that from this day on, forcible stem implantation in the United States has come to an end. By Presidential Order, today, the violation of your civil rights will never again be repeated."
"Really?" Nathan said, raising the unlit cigar to his mouth and clamping it between his teeth. "That's great." And it was. On a conscious level, Nathan understood that such a thing meant a great social victory for Pukes everywhere. But on a gut level... well, Nathan couldn't summon up any excitement. How he was going to light his cigar seemed like a far more pressing, significant problem.
Jude took the cigar gently out of Nathan's mouth and put it in her own. She bit off its tip and flipped open her Zippo. As Waverly picked up the narrative, Jude fired the cigar to life, puffing away until the thick tip was fully ablaze.
"So you can understand why you're so special, Mr. Pope. You, very likely, are the last of your kind: the last Puke to be forcibly converted. While the President might have the power to implement his Executive Order, it still constitutes a policy that needs to be sold to the American Public. I won't lie to you, Mr. Pope, forcible implantation was always popular with values voters. And to see Pukes suffering everyday in the streets of cities like Seattle... well, the public wants to see their Government doing something..."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following," Nathan shook his head. Jude returned the cigar, now fully lit, and Nathan took a long, satisfying puff.
The table was silent. The heavy drum beat boomed on in the club behind them. Nathan smoked his cigar.
"You see," Peters began again. "If the Supreme Court of the United States dictates forcible implantation to be unconstitutional... then, the hands of law enforcement in America are tied. If the police are unable to arrest Pukes and process them through the same criminal justice system as normal Americans, it raises Pukes to a level that is somewhere above the law. And for their own good, Pukes need to be policed. What with everything and anything edible so scarce, Pukes have little choice but to fight and steal for every last scrap of food. That's why, in the Presidential Order banning forcible stem implantation, there is also a proviso for the stewardship of all the remaining Pukes in the Continental United States."
"Sorry, 'stewardship'?" Nathan leaned forward, figuring he missed something due to the thumping music.
"Yes," Waverly added. "Stewardship. Housing. Group housing."
"Housing? All the Pukes? What? Buying them condos?" Nathan laughed.
"No, no..." Waverly hedged. "There will be... camps."
Nathan could do little more than blink.
"There are so few Pukes left, after all," Waverly quickly tried to explain. "Official figures number them at less than ten thousand. Seattle has as few as two hundred. It's a fringe element, really. A rounding anomaly on the census figures. They will be easier to feed and clothe once they're centrally located. It's for their own good, really. As you well know, malnutrition is simply rampant amongst the Pukes. In camps, the Government will be able to provide them with a fully-balanced diet, at a reasonable cost to the American taxpayer. It makes sense, really. We should have done it years ago, if you think about it. It's a kindness. To leave Pukes to starve to death on the streets of our cities. Letting them fight like dogs for what little scraps of edible material is left on the planet. How can we consider ourselves a humane society and let such an abomination persist?"
"But..." Nathan looked at the burning ember at the end of his cigar. "Camps? Concentration Camps?"
"Internment camps," Peters interjected. "There is a historical precedent. The Japanese during World War Two. All determined to be completely constitutional, I might add." Peters shifted in his seat. "And as Waverly said, it's the only way to ensure proper nutrition for each and every remaining Puke. Do you know there are Pukes who have children? And they refuse to get them stemmed? Now, not being stemmed yourself, I can forgive. You're free to believe whatever crazy garbage you choose, this is a free country, but when you start making children suffer for your outlandish beliefs... there I draw the line. I think it's the responsibility of good Government to draw that line for people."
"And these... internment camps... this is what you need me to sell?" It washed over Nathan like a sickening wave. Suddenly, the cigar tasted bitter in his mouth. He took it out and rested it on the ashtray.
Wav
erly picked up the pieces. "Everyone understands that this will be for the Pukes' own good. Some people, perhaps, will be uncomfortable with the historical connotations. The Government will need to address this unease. As the last forcibly stemmed Puke, you have a unique voice. You can speak to the wretched state in which the Pukes of this country are forced to live. You can speak about your life after being implanted, how it sits in contrast to your life before. You can help a disquieted nation understand the moral complexities of a situation with no fast and easy answers. Of course, the question is: will you?"
Peters continued. "Okay, Nathan, I'll level with you. What Waverly is saying here is absolutely correct, but there's a brass tacks, no bullshit level to this situation. This stewardship, it can go one of two ways: the easy way or the hard way. Not six hours ago, you were a Puke. You, more than anyone else understand their situation. You, more than anyone else can predict what will happen when policemen start knocking on doors. You have a special responsibility here, Nathan, to both the old world from which you came and the new one you are about to enter.
"The Stewardship Directive will be implemented. Of that there's no doubt. It's policy now, with the full political backing of the Big U. How it is implemented, Nathan, will depend greatly on you.
"There's an easy and peaceful scenario, Nathan, with the soothing voice of a former Puke reassuring a nation that the Government is acting in the best interest of all parties involved. And there's a hard and violent scenario, Nathan, with fighting in the streets, and good, honest Americans left cowering in their homes, quick to accept whatever harsh measures the Government employs to see that the law of the land is fully executed. You, Nathan, more than anyone, can decide which scenario will play out in the streets of this great nation. You have the power to decide. Which will it be: easy and peaceful, or hard and violent? It will fall on your head, Nathan."